


Killers by Night

by bastardmice (itsahardyparty)



Category: Type O Negative (Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Captivity, Choking, Depression, Dismemberment, Dubious Consent, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I somehow accidentally wrote a slow burn, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Cancer, Murder Family, Murderers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Violence, Vomiting, Whump, and I will warn accordingly at the start, but lbr...mostly hurt, there is going to be one (1) chapter that is very rape-heavy, very very very graphic violence, yeah im adding more warnings bc i have added plot in my head
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahardyparty/pseuds/bastardmice
Summary: Kenny is reunited with the rest of Type O Negative, and comes to discover they have a nasty little past-time. But there's only one problem--now that they have him, they aren't letting him leave. Either he learns to live with their hobbies, or it's his own neck on the line.
Relationships: Kenny Hickey/Johnny Kelly
Comments: 21
Kudos: 19





	1. The Houseguest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny reunites with his friends after too long a time, and they fall right back into their usual chaos. It's always good to see old friends, and the things they've been getting up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 Playlist:  
> Wilkommen im Nichts - Eisbrecher  
> Hungover in Jonestown - Amigo the Devil  
> One of You - Silvertomb  
> Left Hand Black - Danzig  
> Welcome to the Jungle - Guns N' Roses

The entrance to the Saint Vitus bar in Brooklyn, NY, was a heavy, nondescript black door. There was no doorknob and no window to peek through to confirm you were in the right place. It was the rightmost of two doors squeezed between two brightly-lit storefronts, and if you weren't looking out for it, you'd walk right past it. Kenny Hickey, a bar regular, knew exactly what to look for and where to go, and leaned one leather-clad shoulder against the cool metal to push his way into the building. 

The inside atmosphere wasn't terribly different from that of the street outside: yellowing street lamps weakly illuminated the fog-heavy sidewalk, the silence only punctuated with leftover rain dripping from the adjacent awnings. The inside of the bar was dimly lit with red-tinted overheads, and everything else was black. Kenny ambled down the short stretch of hall and showed his ID to the bouncer, who squinted at it for an insultingly long time before allowing him to get a hand stamp and waving him inside. 

The bar was crowded and sticky; the usual, comfortable collection of Friday night barflies. Kenny wriggled his way through the crowd and squeezed between two occupied bar stools, smacking a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Jack and Coke."

"Hey, there he is!"

_"Hickey!"_

Johnny darted over, smiling radiantly, and pulled Kenny into a tight hug. "Kenny! It's so good to see you, how're you doing?"

"Hey." Kenny squeezed him back, grinning up at him. "It's been a while."

It had been entirely too long, in fact. Perhaps in some other timeline Kenny would have had more luck. He had grown apart from his friends steadily as his mother had gotten sicker and sicker, and then eventually bedridden. He'd committed himself to working overtime to make enough money for her treatments, and taking care of her with whatever free time he had left.

And then, suddenly, she'd passed away. 

Kenny had been utterly stunned by the loss. He'd gone to work in the morning as usual, and when he'd come home, she was tucked into bed, peacefully resting, her heartbeat gone from her chest. 

The funeral was small. The boys, despite not having seen him for nearly a year, all faithfully turned up, dressed head to toe in mourning black, and helped him get back on his feet. And now, a few weeks later, was the first social activity Kenny had engaged in since his mother had gotten sick. 

It was an amazing relief that nothing had changed. The five of them crowded in at the bar and talked as easily as they always had. Peter's ranting and Josh's dry delivery had Kenny laughing harder than he had in a long time. They drank beer, and then more beer, and at some point they all switched over to hard liquor. And then Kenny was drinking his third bourbon and Johnny was giggling at him as they all staggered out the door, and he heard "Hickey, you alright?" 

And then he woke up face-down on an old mattress. 

Even before he opened his eyes, Kenny was acutely aware of the throbbing in his temples and the dryness of his mouth. This was an especially nasty hangover, apparently. He turned his head and smacked his lips, squinting against the room's low light as he struggled to get his eyes open. Mattress. No sheets. He shifted and squirmed with a laborious grunt, trying to find a more comfortable position, and in the process, realized that he was no longer wearing shoes. 

Where were his shoes?

More importantly, where was _he_?

His eyes finally began to adjust, and he looked around. He was in a basement. But...whose fucking basement was it? He had an apartment, and it definitely wasn't his mother's place in Queens. So, where the fuck--

_"Ah, muthafucka--"_

That was Sal's voice. Oh, right! The guys. He'd probably crashed at one of their places. Hadn't Josh been telling him that they were all renting a house together? Yes, Kenny could call that back. He remembered because that was when he'd called Josh a fag, and then Sal had high-fived him.

With a Herculean deal of effort, Kenny managed to shift himself up on his elbows, wincing out a belch that burned the back of his throat. This instance seemed to require the tried and true Three Point Hangover Treatment. Stick your fingers down your throat, pop two Aleve, wash it down with ginger ale, and try not to do any heavy lifting. Of course, the flight of stairs Kenny would have to struggle up to get to the bathroom would make this difficult, but the effort would be worth it if it meant eventually feeling less like a reanimated corpse. 

It was only after he'd been sitting up long enough to get comfortable that he realized how uncomfortable he was. Fighting through the throbbing headache and mounting nausea, he struggled to peel off his leather jacket. The cool air hitting his arms was a welcome relief. He undid his belt for good measure, too--if he was going to have to be hunched over a toilet, and not armed with his usual choice of sweatpants, there was no shame in trying to suffer less.

Flexing his fingers and wiggling his toes, Kenny grunted and forced himself to stand--or do something similar. He winced the whole time, the few shuffling steps toward the staircase were a special agony, and he already missed the comfort of the boxspring. "Fuck's sake," he muttered, gripping the banister with a clammy hand and pulling himself up on the first stair. 

His stomach recoiled harshly, like the kickback from a shotgun, and Kenny slapped a hand over his mouth, afraid that he'd cover the guys' basement steps in half-digested beer and buffalo wings. No! He wasn't a pussy. He could do this. There were only onetwothreefour--twelve more stairs?!

Kenny groaned quietly, and stepped up again. Fuck.

Upstairs, there was a similar degree of chaos. Peter had woken up on the front porch and had gotten locked out of the house. Johnny and Sal had ended up slumped and hanging off the living room couch. Josh was the only one who had managed to actually make it into his bed. He had also been the one that had accidentally locked Peter out. 

Johnny squinted his eyes open, then immediately squeezed them shut. What the hell was that sound? 

After a few seconds that felt a lot longer, Kenny burst through the basement door and staggered into the door jamb for stability. His hair was standing on end; its normally gentle waves had surpassed curly and gone straight to frizzy. Deep circles had settled under his eyes, and his face was ash-gray. 

"Kenny?" Johnny rubbed his eyes, trying to push Sal's head off his stomach. "W'you downstairs?"

"Where's the bathroom?" Kenny burped again and winced. 

Through the haze clouding his ability to reason, Johnny realized that Kenny was about to get sick. "Round the corner. Y'okay?"

"Will be." He dutifully followed the directions, gracefully shut the door, then collapsed and threw his guts up. 

Johnny winced sympathetically, then poked Sal a few times until he stopped rumbling with snores and forced his eyes open, glaring at his friend like a big, unhappy bear. 

"What?"

"You're using me as a body pillow and I'm about to die of fuckin' heatstroke."

Sal stared up at him and grumbled contemptuously, but shifted off him. The place was starting to smell like a locker room.

"Kenny, do you want fresh clothes? I have some sweats you can borrow," he called, wincing again when Kenny audibly wretched. 

"Yeah, thanks," he called back, voice cracking hoarsely. "Gotta take this belt off."

"You don't gotta be anywhere, right? Hang out for a little bit." Sal groaned and stretched a little, pulling a pillow into his chest. 

Johnny grunted and pushed a few errant, flyaway hairs out of his face, then finally peeled himself off the sofa. He stumbled a little through the first two steps, and leaned against the wall to step over Peter, who had been let back into the house and had immediately passed out on the living room floor. Sal squinted and sat up, smushing the pillow against his face, and scrunching up his nose when he heard Johnny's dresser drawers rattling. Every single fucking sound was an assault on his goddamn senses. 

A moment or two later, Johnny ambled out of his room, still a little off-balance, hugging a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt to his chest. He leaned on the door jamb and rapped one knuckle gently against the door. Kenny responded with a flush, and then the door cracked open. Kenny was already shirtless, belt open, and flashed a tired grin. "Well hey, sunshine." 

"You could have waited till I got back to start the striptease." 

"What's the fun in that?" Kenny grinned wider and grabbed the clothes, winking at him and shutting the door. 

Sal shifted over as Johnny approached the couch again, making a face that, this time, was more disgust than hangover. "Are you serious?"

"What?"

"You never got over that shit?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You've had a thing for him since high school, and it's actually fuckin' disturbing. He's a skinny little rat."

Johnny made a face, glancing over at Peter when he started to groan. "I don't have a thing for Kenny. That's ridiculous."

"You saw his stupid little chest and your eyes nearly popped out of your head." 

"That's not true. You're an idiot, Sal." 

"Why's Sal an idiot?"

"Jesus," Sal hissed, jumping as Josh seemed to _materialize_ in the doorway. "You're like a fuckin' cat, I'm gonna beat your ass--"

"How ya feeling?"

"Worse than you, evidently," Johnny muttered, jerking his head toward the bathroom. "Kenny's not feeling well. Do we have ginger ale?"

"We should," Josh replied, then met eyes with Sal and shared a smirk with him.

"What?" Johnny demanded. 

"Oh, nothing. You're an open book."

"I am not, will you two shut the fuck up?"

"Don't get touchy, princess, just sayin'--"

The bathroom door swung open and Kenny reappeared, looking tired but overall less ill, a familiar smirk on his lips. He was clad in an old pair of Johnny's sweats, which were baggy at the ankles, and a slightly loose Black Sabbath Paranoid t-shirt. "Mornin'."

"There's the man of the hour." Sal squinted at him. "Fresh as a fuckin' daisy and smellin' like a truck stop."

"You look like you just crawled out of a ditch on the side of King's Highway." He shuffled closer, nudging Peter with his foot. "Rise and shine, bitch."

Peter snorted loudly, moaned, and reached up to cover his face with his arms. "Fuck you, you little faggot--"

"There he is," Kenny chirped, stepping over him and squishing in next to Sal and Johnny on the sofa. "You remember any fuckin' thing from last night?"

Johnny grinned. "Not a lot. I remember having a good time though. Before you got sick, you had fun?"

"Yeah, great time. Speaking of which, why's there a mattress in your basement?" 

There's a beat of silence that's too long and too awkward. 

"What?" Josh asked.

Peter sat up slowly, squinting at them. 

"I woke up in the basement. On a mattress. There were no sheets or anything, just seemed kinda weird." Kenny glanced around at all of them, eyebrows knit with concern. "What?"

"Oh, it's uh...the cats. They like to hang out down there." Peter waved a hand, and scrubbed the grogginess out of his eyes. "So I put Sal's old mattress down there so they'd have something soft to sit on." 

"Jesus, I forgot we put my mattress down there," Sal grumbled and shook his head. "You scared me for a second."

Johnny grinned. "You slept on a cat bed."

"Good thing I'm not allergic, I guess." Kenny yawned a little. "Thanks for putting me up, guys."

"You don't have to thank us for that," Josh assured him quietly. "You're our brother. We're always happy to have you."

"Alright, enough with this sappy bullshit." Sal grunted gruffly, forcing himself to sit up. His temples throbbed in protest and he scowled in response. "Who wants breakfast?"

Johnny wrinkled his nose. "How can you even think about food?"

"I want pancakes. Let's go to Denny's," Peter said, raising his hand from his position on the floor. 

"Are you serious?"

"What, you're not gonna come?"

"Oh no, I'll still come. You're just disgusting." Kenny used Johnny's shoulder as leverage to help him stand up, stretched until his back popped, and raked his hands through his hair in an effort to smooth it out. "I left my jacket and shit downstairs, lemme just run and get it." 

"Don't take all fuckin' day with it. We're leavin' in five." 

Kenny threw the basement door open again and started to stomp down the stairs. The basement seemed more evenly lit now, probably because his eyes had adjusted. When he got to the cement landing and turned the corner, there was the mattress in all its weather-beaten glory, one of Pete's two cats curled up on it. "Hey, cutie. I'm just gonna grab my jacket, okay?" The calico cat opened her eyes slowly and blinked at Kenny, watching him as he slowly reached for his jacket. 

He offered the kitty his fingers and she sniffed them curiously, then nudged her head against his palm. She remembered him, even a year later. 

"Aw, yeah. You can't forget uncle Kenny, right?" He gave her a gentle scratch behind one ear, and she purred. "Ginger, where's your sister?"

Ginger let out a soft _mrrrrp_ , and Kenny turned when he heard rustling. 

"How fuckin' long can it possibly take him to get a jacket?" Peter huffed, then frowned a little. He and Josh exchanged glances. 

"...He's just playing with the cats, Pete. You're being paranoid."

Kenny crouched down to scoop Ginger up like a baby, eyes trained on the corner where her sister, Sage, a brown, tiger-striped tabby, was messing around with some kind of tarp. "Hey, what are you doin' over there? Don't eat that--hey, pspspsps--"

Sal shifted and glanced at all of them, before bellowing "Hickey, what's the fuckin' hold up?"

"I'm bonding with the cats, you cocksucker--Sage, don't _fuckin' chew on that--"_

Johnny shot to his feet. "Shit."

"Fuck--"

Kenny let Ginger down and hurried over toward Sage, yanking the tarp back. "You're gonna fuckin' ch--" Mid-admonishment, Kenny's voice died in his throat. He froze before he was even able to process what he was seeing.   
  
“Kenny?” Johnny called carefully, wincing when he was only met with silence. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Ginger watched Kenny patiently as he stood there, frozen in place, still gripping the black tarp in one tersely clenched fist. 

That was a human body. That was a severely mutilated human body. Missing an eye, half a jaw, a hollowed out throat, ribs shattered and splintered and the heart missing like something out of Hannibal Lecter’s wet dream. It was missing one leg at the knee and all its fingers. Its nose was gone. Its one remaining eye was frozen open in horror, its mouth open to reveal gaps where teeth had been pulled. 

Kenny came back into himself and dropped the tarp, stumbling backwards. Suddenly, his other senses snapped sharply to attention—the thick smell of blood and raw meat that had been sitting out too long, the humming of intrigued flies, the blood pounding in his ears like a war drum. He had to get out of here. 

Sal shook his head and stood up. “He’s been down there too long. I’m going in.” He grabbed a wooden baseball bat from against the wall and slung it over one shoulder, slowly stepping down onto the first stair. 

The wood whined underneath Sal’s weight and Kenny’s head snapped up as if he were a startled antelope. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, he was gonna die, he was gonna die and the cats were gonna bear witness to his murder—

Sal shut the door behind him and started down the stairs, every creak a death knell in Kenny’s chest. 

”Man—come on, please don’t do this—“

”This ain’t getting out. _You_ ain’t getting out.”

”Sal, don’t fuckin’ do this, man, please—“

Before he could even get his legs to move, Sal had cocked the bat up behind his head, shifted one foot forward, and swung. 

The finished wood connected sharply with the side of Kenny’s head and he lost what little footing he had, crumbling to the ground like a bag of rocks. Sal dropped the bat and crouched down, giving his friend a rather clinical once-over. He still had a pulse. That shot was probably going to leave a nasty bruise, maybe even cause a concussion, but no lasting brain damage. 

”Well?” Johnny asked as Sal reappeared at the top of the steps. He set the bat down against the wall and shook his head. 

”We’re taking a rain check on the pancakes. We have a problem.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes. “He saw? How did you let him see?”

”Don’t look at me! It was your stupid cats!” 

”Shut up!” Josh snapped. “It doesn’t fuckin’ matter why he saw. All that matters is that he did. And now we have to figure out what to do with him. So let’s put our fuckin’ heads together and figure out what we’re gonna do.” 

Johnny nodded slowly, lost in thought. What if they outvoted him, and chose to kill Kenny? What would he even do? He couldn’t let that happen. 

”Alright, but....before we make any big decisions, let’s get him squared away first. We have to make sure he can’t go anywhere.” 

The others nodded and, one by one, they all slowly rose, and began to approach the basement door. 


	2. Xero Tolerance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected issue has come up--time for the goresome foursome to put their heads together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 playlist:  
> Make Me Bad - Korn  
> As Black as My Heart - A Pale Horse Named Death  
> Are You Afraid - Type O Negative  
> World Coming Down - Type O Negative  
> Steh auf (Trivium Remix) - Lindemann

I.R.A.T.E. was the five-step program that Peter, Sal, Johnny, and Josh used to deal with all of their victims. They each knew it like the back of their hands, and much of it had, by this point, become muscle memory. Despite the word spelled by the catchy acronym, the process was carried out with cold, calculating precision. This particular process had no room for emotion--not the first four steps, at least.

I: Incapacitate. This could be done with a number of methods, including but not limited to drugs, alcohol, kidnapping, or plain brute force. The method chosen, of course, depended on the scenario. Public places were better for more discreet methods like dosing with drugs or "accidentally" getting someone hammered. In a private basement, a baseball bat to the skull would certainly suffice. 

R: Restrain. You have the fresh meat, and now you have to make sure it doesn't go anywhere when it comes to. Human durability is unfortunately variable, doses are difficult, and people may have more fortitude than you plan for. Best place to restrain is the basement--that's what the mattress is for! (duh.) 

A: Assess. What's the goal here? Is this a one-off, quick kill, or is this someone to keep in the basement and torture until you get bored? Do you want to bring them into the group? 

T: Trash, Torture, or Teach. If it's a one-off, trash them--kill them relatively quickly. Torture is self-explanatory. If you want to bring them into the group, that brings you to the last step, which is...

E: Evisceration. Time for an anatomy lesson. Some people are the students, and some people are unfortunately dissection fodder. 

Sal had made short work of Kenny's consciousness, and now he and Josh busied themselves with restraint. Peter leaned against the banister of the basement stairs, watching closely as they tied quick, sturdy knots. Josh put a knee between his shoulder blades and folded both of Kenny's arms behind him, tying them at the wrists and elbows. Sal was kneeling beside him, tying his knees together and then Jacob's Ladder-ing all the way down to his ankles. 

"See, those bondage classes were a good idea." 

"Not the time, Pete." Josh rolled Kenny on his side and crammed a ball of socks into his mouth, then dropped him. "Alright. What are we gonna do?"

"You didn't have to gag him," Johnny protested. 

"Johnny. _Sweetheart,"_ Sal crooned, voice dripping with condescension. "When have you ever known Kenny to be quiet? And when his life's on the line? He'll never shut the fuck up. This is necessary."

"Besides, it's protocol." Peter lit a cigarette, puffing on it slowly. He scanned the scene, biting down on the filter. "Okay, let's put it to a vote. What are we doing with him?"

Sal shook his head. "I say kill him. He knows way too much, he's gonna rat us out." 

"Well we can't let him _go,_ that's for sure," Josh snorted. "So we either keep him in the basement or put him down, but he's not leaving."

"Alright. That's a vote and a half for killing the bastard."

"We can't kill him," Johnny said, shooting a look at Sal. "That's not bias either--why don't you guys wanna bring him on?"

Peter made a face and shrugged noncommittally. "I dunno."

"You took me on!" 

"Because you were involved in the first fuckin' murder!" Peter snapped suddenly, jerking off the wall with a quickness that made Johnny jump. "Listen. You helped me bury a body. I obviously owe you for that, and I know you're good on your word. But this motherfucker? We don't know shit about what he's like under this kinda pressure."

"He could become a loose cannon," Josh droned, plopping down on the mattress next to Kenny. "I've seen that little temper he gets."

"If you want to hang on to him, he's your responsibility," Sal informed him seriously. "It's like the cats. I don't fuck with them because I didn't want them."

Johnny looked at Josh and Peter, and then spared a glance at Kenny's peaceful but steadily bruising face. "So, you guys don't have a problem taking him on if I keep him as my responsibility?"

Josh shrugged one shoulder. "I don't care what you do." He peeked over at Kenny too, then shrugged again. "I guess I'd prefer him not to die."

"Yeah, whatever." Pete shook his head, then tossed his cigarette down and stomped on it. "But if the fucker gets outta line, that's it. He's dead, you understand?"

Johnny nodded quickly, smiling a little. "Yeah, I understand. Don't worry." 

"Alright." Josh patted Johnny on the shoulder lightly, then stood up with a small grunt. "Then I guess we're done here."

"Don't fuck it up, Johnny," Peter warned him, raising his eyebrows. "I'm serious."

"Don't worry, Pete." Johnny cocked his head and smiled brightly, pushing a few strands of hair away from Kenny's eyes. "I got this."

For the second time in six hours, Kenny woke up, face down, on the mattress in the basement. He coughed a few times and bit down on the socks, nearly gagging at the feeling of cotton in his mouth. He squirmed a little and found that his shoulders already ached; his arms were bound at a very unnatural angle that pinned his shoulder blades back and forced his sternum out. 

"Hey, Kenny--nah, don't move. Relax."

Kenny's eyes widened wildly. It all came back to him suddenly--his temple pounded with the dull ache of a bruise, and he caught sight of the tarp again. The tarp that was hiding the mutilated body that one of them had killed and a bunch of them probably knew about, and now he knew about and they were still gonna murder him and then _he_ was gonna be dismembered and hidden under a tarp too--

He screamed through the socks and tried to thrash away from Johnny, who dragged him back by one ankle and sat on his stomach. "Hey. Hey. Look at me. You're not gonna die. Okay? Breathe." Johnny squeezed his jaw lightly and raised an eyebrow. "Don't flip. You're one of us now."

Kenny's eyes bulged in alarm. "Uhn oh ou?"

"Yeah, one of us. But you gotta keep your head on straight, okay? Or they'll saw it off. I'm gonna help you out." 

This didn't feel very much like help. In fact, it felt like something out of a horror movie. Johnny was sitting on top of him, that same, disarming, easy smile on his face, ten feet from a rotting corpse. 

"Let's check this out...Sal doesn't know how to ease up, does he?" Johnny tutted. He held Kenny's head straight and gently touched the edge of the bruise, and Kenny inhaled sharply and jerked his head away. A burst of pain shot across his face and down his jaw, throbbing in protest. "Aw, that's fucked up. I'm gonna get you an ice pack, okay? Don't go anywhere." 

The mattress rebounded gently as Johnny got up, smiling brightly at Kenny on his way up the stairs. He squinted one eye shut in an attempt to push back the cyclic bursts of pain. How the hell had Johnny gotten mixed up in all this stuff?

"Well?" Peter asked, regarding Johnny warily as he shut the basement door behind him. 

"Sal fucked him up with that bat," Johnny replied, going into the freezer for an ice pack. "I'm sure he'll settle down soon." He reached into the fridge next and pulled out two water bottles.

Josh and Peter glanced at each other again. "You're sure about that, are you?"

"Yeah. What?" He paused, frowning a little. "You still don't think this is a good idea."

"Not really," Sal quipped, sharpening a knife idly. "But y'know. You wanted him, so it's not really up to me."

"You're right. It's not up to you because you're a goddamn moron." Johnny piled his supplies into one arm and opened the basement door with the other. "See ya later."

Kenny flinched when he heard Johnny starting down the stairs. The bruise looked a lot worse in the low light--purple and raw and aching. "A'ight, I gotcha some ice, and now I'm gonna explain this shit to you. I got you some water too, but that's for after." 

He stared up at Johnny, eyes following as he descended and approached, finally kneeling over Kenny and pressing the ice pack against his head. He hissed quietly and shut his eyes, then relaxed when it the ice began to soothe rather than burn.

"I bet you have a lot of questions, and I'm gonna clear everything up soon."

Kenny's eyes flickered from Johnny to the tarp and back again. 

"Don't focus on that." 

Kenny squirmed underneath Johnny, grunted, and spat out the ball of socks. "What the _fuck_ is going on, Johnny? Did you--there's a fuckin' _body_ over there!" 

As gently as he could, Johnny stuffed the sock ball back into Kenny's mouth. "I need you to shut up for a second and not flip out, okay? I'll explain." He patted Kenny's arm gently. "So, remember when Pete was dating that girl? Connie?"

Kenny nodded slowly. 

"Yeah, right. And we figured something was off about her, right? Well, not long after you started takin' care of your mom full time, he found out she was cheating on him."

Johnny paused for effect, and Kenny's brow wrinkled with sympathy. 

"Yeah, fucked up, right? So uh...he got a little pissed off, as you do. So he followed her one night after she went out and found her fuckin' some guy at Coney Island beach, and uh..." Johnny grimaced and mimed slitting his throat. "Except, y'know, with a pickaxe--"

Kenny's eyes widened wildly again, and Johnny pressed a hand firmly over his mouth. "He needed a hand. And we came out to help, because he's our brother." He lifted an eyebrow sternly. "You get me?"

Kenny nodded, swallowing thickly.

Johnny nodded back, pushing some hair out of his eyes. "Good. Cooperate, or it's your neck."

There was a terrible pause in which the world stood still, and then Johnny melted back into that bright smile. He swung his leg over Kenny and got off him, then helped him sit up and twisted the cap off one bottle of water. Kenny spat out the ball of socks again and stared at Johnny as he lifted the bottle of water to his lips. 

After a nice, refreshing drink, Kenny blinked up at Johnny. "I still have questions."

"Okay. Shoot."

"You helped Pete get rid of a body--what, a fuckin' year ago?" He jerked his head, again, towards the tarp in the corner. "So who is _that_ motherfucker?!" His eyebrows lowered again, darkening his whole face with a cloud of realization. "Don't tell me he made a habit of it. And you're still fuckin' covering for him? Johnny--"

"Naw, come on. It's not like that." Johnny smiled shyly and pushed another lock of hair out of his face. "It's...well, you know. It's sort of exciting, right? Like a rollercoaster."

Kenny stared at him stupidly. Johnny was smiling airily as if he were indulging a guilty pleasure--that his weakness was chocolate truffles, or that he liked to watch trashy television shows. This couldn't be the same guy he'd grown up with. It couldn't possibly. He was still such a sweetheart, but....

"You'll warm up to it, I promise. There's an adjustment period."

He wasn't headed off to college! This was fucking _MURDER!_

Kenny wanted to object. But instead, he wriggled a little and murmured "Can you at least loosen these? My shoulders are fuckin' killin' me."

"Nope, sorry. That's Josh's handiwork, we really can't have you running off."

"So when are you gonna let me out, goddamn it?"

"When you assimilate." 

Kenny nodded a little, then glanced over at Johnny again. "Alright. Any advice for making it through the assimilation period?"

Johnny's lips twitched. Kenny had always been smarter than he looked. "Yeah. Don't piss Sal off. Pete could probably go either way, but he's got that temper, y'know? Just watch yourself."

"...are they really gonna kill me if I get outta line?

Johnny nodded solemnly. "They're not fuckin' around. They didn't wanna bring you on at all." 

"...you guys still have jobs and shit?"

"Well yeah, Kenny. Murder doesn't exactly pay the bills. I work at the body shop with Bruce, Pete still works at the Parks Department, Sal works at the butcher shop, and Josh fixes up computers. And you're gonna stay down here. Someone's gonna be here during the day though, so we can keep an eye on you."

"Oh, don't lose hours on account of me." Kenny said, shifting his shoulder a little. "I'm sure there's not much I can get up to down here."

"Nice fuckin' try. But I need you under close watch. You're kinda ornery."

Kenny didn't sleep a wink that night, but Peter sat there and watched him the entire time. It wasn't just because of the rope digging into his skin, either. He was wired: anxious, strung tight, and lost in thought. His position hadn't changed. He needed to get out, and he needed to get out soon, but how exactly he was going to do that remained a mystery. He didn't even want to escape to rat them out, he wanted to escape to ensure his own survival lest he break some unspoken rule of model captive behavior, but if they found him, that was it. If he was going to escape, he had to do it soon, and he had to do it _well._

But before he figured out the method or quality of his escape, he had to figure out how to get out of this bind. Literally. 

Kenny glanced over at the tarp again, wincing when some of his hair got pulled out. Johnny had let him go without gagging him, but Pete had come down and wrapped duct tape around his head twice just to keep his mouth shut. Maybe he could brainstorm a little now that Pete had dropped off to sleep. A while after he'd turned on his other side, his back to Peter, he'd heard his breathing even out. Maybe he could wiggle off the mattress like an inchworm without being noticed and check some of the boxes leaning up against the walls. Before, he'd thought they held normal basement stuff, but now he knew better. They had to have something sharp down here, right?

Kenny rolled on his other side and gasped sharply through his nose, eyes widened. Peter's acid-green eyes were open, and illuminated in the low light. 

"Mmmm?" Kenny grunted, wriggling backwards reflexively. He looked so fucking creepy. 

"I heard you move," Peter rumbled through the darkness from the chair against the wall. "Can't sleep?"

Kenny slowly shook his head.

"Oh, that's a shame." The chair's leg squeaked as Peter leaned forward, squinting at Kenny through the darkness. "Try not to move around so much. I might think you're up to something. You know what they way about murderers, right? Very suspicious people."

Kenny swallowed, then stubbornly rolled over again. _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the actual song goes "I took the D train to Brighton Beach" but I've actually been to Coney Island beach so I'm altering it a little because that's where I always visualize the song taking place.


	3. A Game of Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny plans his escape, but of course, nothing is ever easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 Playlist:  
> Love the Ones You Hate - A Pale Horse Named Death  
> Skin Ticket - Slipknot  
> Life is Killing Me - Type O Negative  
> Zeig Dich - Rammstein  
> Knebel - Lindemann

Kenny had spent three days held hostage, learning the house from the basement. 

Though a human captive, he was really treated more like a pet than a prisoner--which was certainly weird in its own right, but he'd take what he could get. Johnny came downstairs and fed him twice a day, and those were the only times he was allowed to talk. There was a bathroom in the basement (well, there was a toilet and a bottle of hand sanitizer), and of course that was a supervised activity too. He didn't take much advantage of the "freedom", despite the fact that that was the only time his arms were ever untied. One of your best friends could only watch you piss so many times before things got weird. 

But he did well with what little he had. The house was old, and it spoke: moaning in protest when the wind blew too hard, or groaning under the weight of an occupant when an especially sensitive floorboard was stepped on. From these creaks, the sounds of footfalls, and the squeak of the front door hinges, Kenny had gotten a pretty basic idea of where everything was. If he sat on the mattress facing the stairs, the front door was one story up and directly behind him. The basement door was ahead and off slightly to the right, and you accessed it, and the stairwell, through the living room. Further to the right was the kitchenette, which he knew because the wooden chairs squealed against the floor when moved. Off to the left was the sitting room, with the TV and a big couch that Sal always threw himself down on so hard Kenny was afraid he'd come through the ceiling. There was a bathroom somewhere around there, because he could hear the pipes when the toilet flushed. Upstairs was a mystery, but unimportant, unless his yet-unhatched escape plan involved launching himself out a second-story window.

Nobody ever left him alone--at least not alone in the house--and the days dragged on for ages. There was no comfortable position to sleep in and nothing to do. Not even a book in sight. He supposed they didn't entertain down here much, and he couldn't see how he'd manage to turn any pages, but Kenny still found it offensive. 

Kenny had spent three hours staring at the ceiling and reciting some song under his breath, when the front door opened.

He froze. Held his breath. One large boot lifted and stepped over the house's threshold. 

The door closed. 

Kenny shut his eyes and quietly cursed Peter for mocking him, waiting patiently for the door to reopen, but it didn't. Not for a minute, or two, or three. 

He sat up slowly and stared at the ceiling. Had he _left?_

Kenny bit his lower lip and eased himself off the mattress, careful not to audibly upset the box spring. He tried to scoot forward, pulling with his heels, but he wasn't getting anywhere fast. So he turned around and started pushing instead. He inched backward until his back was against the wall, and he could peek into some of the boxes. 

_What if he comes back in and runs down here and finds me? What then? Well I'm not doing anything wrong, right? I'm just looking around. What else have I got to do?_

Kenny shook his head hard, as if trying to scatter the thoughts themselves like flies. He couldn't get caught up in panicking. 

And it didn't matter anyway; the boxes held only old electronics and wires, some plates, old Christmas decorations--it really was all "basement stuff."

Unless...

Wincing, Kenny glanced over at the tarp that was still concealing the body. If they were gonna keep knives _anywhere..._

"Fuck," he hissed through the duct tape, wriggling his way over. Why were they just letting this fucking body decompose here? Kenny had more or less gotten used to the smell, but sometimes it hit him again and made him dry-heave. Some hunch in the back of his head told him that this wasn't normal practice and was, rather, an intimidation tactic: Sal wanted him to flip out. Or, everyone but Johnny did. They wanted him to succumb to whatever fucking cabin fever was induced by sharing a living space with a mutilated corpse. 

But Kenny was far more stubborn than he was uncomfortable (and he was VERY uncomfortable), so he was clinging to whatever of his sanity remained by sheer force of will and little else. 

Actually moving the tarp proved harder than Kenny had expected. His only opposable thumbs were tied behind his back with the rest of his hands, and his ankles being bound together prevented him from gaining any kind of leverage through standing or squatting. He scooted all the way around so his back was to the tarp, grabbed it with both hands, and then began the laborious process of dragging it off. 

The smell was instantaneous, and Kenny had to stop and press his face to his knees to prevent himself from gagging. No wonder they kept it under such a thick, waterproof cover. A smell like that would alert the cops. 

Eyes watering and ears pricked and listening for the front door, Kenny wriggled his way away from the body, dragging the tarp behind him. Once he was far enough away to expose the body, he dropped the covering immediately and scrambled backward, almost losing his balance. Bracing his heels against the floor, he leaned as far back as he could without lying down, pawing around desperately for _anything_ that was even remotely sharp. When he found nothing, he held his breath and tried to feel underneath the body. 

It was...weird. He'd expected the body to be much softer, or more tender, or whatever quality human flesh had that was now absent--perhaps it was warmth. This, despite being open and cut apart in so many places, was strangely rigid. It wasn't even a person anymore, just a collection of decaying body parts. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold, either. It was just....there. Like every other inanimate object in the room. 

That was a highly disturbing conclusion to come to, but it also made it easier to swallow his discomfort and search. He was getting antsy about it too--the rope had been cutting into his legs through Johnny's sweats for days, and he couldn't wait to get himself out of it. With a grunt, he pushed his hands under the body, dug his heels into the floor, and pushed as hard as he could with his legs. The fucker rolled, thank _Christ_ , and Kenny perked up when he heard a clatter. He twisted around, and there he saw the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on: a survival knife. A bowie knife, actually, complete with the saw-toothed edge to cut through brush. That would definitely get him out of this bind. 

He leaned all the way back and grabbed the handle of the knife in one hand, and was about to get to work when he heard the front door open.

_Fuck._

Kenny hissed under his breath at his shitty fucking luck, and scrambled around the other side of the body to grab the tarp again. His heart was thudding out a cacophonous rhythm in his chest as he heard Peter's heavy footsteps begin to move through the house. He struggled to yank the tarp back into place, but it caught on something (what? an exposed bone? some teeth? sick bastards) and audibly dragged across whatever sharp edge had stuck it. 

Peter stopped moving, and Kenny gasped, working to wriggle his way back to the mattress as Pete began to approach the basement stairs. He managed to clear the staircase, then heard a hand on the doorknob and launched himself backwards with as much force as he could manage. Peter started to stomp down the stairs just as Kenny rolled onto the mattress, the handle of the knife still clutched in one hand. 

"What was that? I heard something." He paused for a second, then squinted. "Are you sweating?"

Kenny, who was very carefully measuring his breaths to keep from outright panting, stared up at Peter and shrugged his shoulders. 

Pete stared for a moment longer, then bitterly shook his head. This was precisely why he didn't like to keep captives! Way too much trouble. "If you're getting sick, you better fuckin' tell me so I can sanitize the place. Y'know, spray Lysol, disinfect and shit..."

Kenny glanced down at the tape covering his mouth, then shook his head slowly and shrugged one shoulder. 

"You don't think you're sick?" 

Another head-shake. He tugged at the ropes and mimed wiggling around, as if he was trying to get free. 

"Oh, I see. Well, Johnny isn't gonna let you out of here until you get used to the way things are now. So don't waste your fucking energy." 

Kenny nodded obediently, doing his best to look earnestly disappointed. He wanted this son of a bitch to get out of here so he could cut himself free. But, much to his _actual_ disappointment, Peter came the rest of the way down the stairs and pulled over a chair. 

"Mmm. Mmm." Kenny sat up, still keeping the knife against his back, and jerked his head in a gesture for Peter to come forward. He jutted his chin out, looking down at the tape and vocalizing for Peter to get it off. 

With a suspicious sidelong glance, Peter narrowed his eyes. "You won't scream?" 

Kenny shook his head hard, leaning forward as Peter tore the tape off. 

"Ah, fuck," he breathed, rolling his jaw. The shit had nearly ripped his fuckin' skin off, but it was a relief to be able to breathe through his mouth. "Goddamn, that shit's strong."

"We don't cheap out with the necessities." Pete picked the roll of duct tape up off the floor, dropping back down into the chair and rolling the tape between his hands idly. "Alright. What's up."

"I got more questions."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I thought Johnny got all the bases covered."

"You're keeping me in the basement, alone, all day, with almost no human interaction. I do a lot of thinking down here."

"Stop bitching about it, but...yeah, whatever."

"So...what are your fuckin' body counts like?"

"Body counts?"

"Yeah." Kenny nodded, staring up at Peter seriously. "I don't need exact numbers or any shit like that, but...y'know, relatively. Like...how many of these do you each take down?" He jerked his heads toward the corpse under the newly replaced tarp. 

"Uh...Sal and I are about tied." Peter cocked his head, as if doing the mental math. "Yeah, we each take down a couple a month I think."

A couple a _month_? Jesus, over the course of a year they must have killed thirty people each! 

"Fuck, that must be hard to top." Kenny cocked his head. "Josh and Johnny?" 

"Johnny's got the least, yeah. But whenever he does decide to do it it's always a big thing, y'know? It's like a special occasion." He waved a hand and rolled his eyes lightly. "So he doesn't do it _that_ often." 

Kenny nodded slowly. That was pretty much consistent with what he'd figured; Johnny may have maybe killed a _handful_ of people, but he didn't seem...bloodthirsty. At least, not like the others. 

"For Josh it's more of a...mild interest? He's not obsessive, but he indulges sometimes. You know how it is."

Kenny absolutely did not know how it was. 

"Yeah," he agreed. "So when you bring me on--"

" _If,"_ he corrected. 

"Yeah, yeah. Right. If you bring me on, how often will I need to...." 

"This isn't a fuckin' cult, you don't _have_ to do anything. You have to meet exactly two criteria, and they're "don't rat us out" and "learn to be chill about murder.""

"Alright. Well, I think I'm about set, yeah? How do we know when I meet them? Cause I feel pretty ready--"

Peter shook his head. "It's up to Johnny. You have to prove it to him."

Well, that was just gonna fuckin' take too long. He couldn't take much more of this shit. He was getting his ass out of here at the very next available moment. He had nowhere to stow this knife either, and that was starting to unnerve him. This was the kinda thing you only get one shot at. 

"Alright. You ready to be taped back up yet?" 

He shrugged. "Uh...yeah, I guess. Not much of a conversationalist, huh?"

"I try not to get too attached to the captives." Pete grunted and laboriously rose from his chair, twirling the roll of tape between his spindly fingers. 

Kenny stared at him for a second, ice settling into his guts heavily. To the _captives._ Was it really that easy for him to flip the switch? From friends for a decade to fucking _captor and captive?_

"Oh...yeah. Alright." Kenny leaned back a little, keeping the knife as close to his back as he could, and tilted his head to look up at the ceiling. Peter approached, looming over him, and ripped the tape free from the roll, pressing the tail over his mouth. Kenny winced a little and Peter grabbed a fistful of his hair impatiently, using it to hold his head steady as he wrapped the tape around his mouth one, two, three, _four_ times. Did he have to be that fuckin' rough?

Peter turned to leave, then hesitated for a second. Slowly, he turned back around, and crouched so that he and Kenny were face-to-face. 

"You wanna know why I don't think it's a good idea to get attached to you?" He cocked his head, scrutinizing the wide-eyed fear evident in Kenny's face. It was a look he never got sick of. "I don't think you're gonna last much longer here."

And that was true: Kenny didn't seem to be harboring any newfound enthusiasm for the art of serial murder, and that was the condition. He couldn't get in the way or become a liability, but he also had to actively assimilate into the group. They knew he wouldn't, of course. Josh really didn't care either way, but Peter and Sal weren't thrilled to keep him around, and Johnny had really been digging his heels in about letting him stay. The obvious solution, then, was simple: allow him to stay on conditions that almost certainly wouldn't be met. 

"Try not to think about it too hard." Peter smirked as he headed up the stairs. "Night."

Kenny laid back down on the mattress, flat on his back, arms still bent in that godawful position so he could hide the knife under himself. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the sounds that accompanied the evening: Johnny, Sal and Josh coming home, activity in the kitchen, chairs pulling out around the dinette table. Once he got out of here he was raiding that kitchen. He wanted real fucking food, the cigarettes out of his jacket, and something to fuckin' _drink._ And he wasn't taking Peter's red wine cabernet bullshit, he wanted the good stuff: Josh's Polish vodka. 

After the boys finished eating, Johnny started down the stairs with a sandwich for Kenny, but frowned on his way down. "Hey, you feelin' alright?" He ran down and cut the tape off Kenny's face with a small pair of scissors, lightly rubbing the mark it left on his cheek. "You don't look great."

"Ah, I'm alright." Kenny shook his head and peered up at Johnny, putting on his best "I'm deathly ill" face. "I'm not really hungry though."

"Kenny, are you sure you feel okay?" Johnny pressed the back of his hand to Kenny's forehead. He didn't feel feverish, but this was still worrying him. Ugh, why wouldn't the guys just take him on already--

"Yeah, babe. Don't worry. I think I just need some sleep." 

Johnny's cheeks reddened vaguely at the pet name, and he pushed his fingers through his hair. "Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"Yeah. Thank you." Kenny smiled weakly and peered up at him. "I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow. Peter came down to check in and said I looked sweaty. Maybe I just broke a fever."

"Yeah, maybe....you don't feel hot anymore." Johnny still looked worried, but less so now that he thought Kenny was on the mend. "It's okay if you don't eat, but I want you to drink something, okay? That helps with recovery." 

Johnny helped Kenny sit up and gave him sips from a water bottle by holding it up to his lips, only finally going back up to retire after Kenny had insisted multiple times. He was very doting and sweet, but for god's sake, Kenny needed to get out of here. And _coddling_ him was not advancing his agenda. 

He was checked in on a few more times. Johnny padded down the stairs in thick socks and flannel pajama bottoms to check his temperature again, and seemed relieved when Kenny felt totally normal. (Imagine that.) Then Josh came down. He walked around the mattress like a cat stalking its prey, never breaking eye contact in a show of bizarre but very clear dominance.

Sal stalked halfway down the stairs to sneer that Peter's newly onset hypochondria was driving him up a fuckin' wall, then stormed back up. 

He waited until he heard all three of them trudge to the stairs, head up toward the second floor, and then the footsteps got too far away to detect. 

Kenny held his breath and rolled on his side, adjusting his grip on the knife. He spun it a few times, carefully lining up the blade with the rope binding his wrists. He jimmied it up and down slowly until the serrated edge caught on the rope. And then he started sawing. 

It was goddamn near impossible. He didn't have a good angle to saw at, so he wasn't making headway quickly at all, and beyond that, it required more wrist strength than any reasonable human should possess. Fuck, this wasn't gonna work. He had to figure out a way to do this faster! 

Scrunching up his nose in the utmost concentration, Kenny pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the mattress, bending forward and pressing the blade of the knife down against the rope as hard as he could. Cutting through it took more force, but he could feel the fibers beginning to break. These survival knives were meant to cut through wood, surely they could manage a little rope. The Boy Scouts would have been proud. 

Kenny stared at the wall, chewing on the inside of his cheek and willing himself to work the ropes to break. He had to get out of here, and he had to do it now. They could notice tomorrow if the ropes were frayed, provided he managed to do something with the rather obvious knife he was still in possession of. It was now or never. 

And it was...now! It took a while, what felt like an hour, but finally the rope snapped. Kenny let a sharp breath out through his nose and started yanking at the ropes, grinning under his duct tape when they loosened. 

It was all he could do not to audibly groan when his arms were finally released, but he did allow himself a relieved sigh when one of his shoulders popped. He took a self-indulgent moment to stretch and massage his shoulders and arms, reveling in the freedom his joints had been granted after three straight days of bondage. The ropes had left deep marks in his wrists, and especially red and angry lines in the crooks of his elbows. 

Kenny made relatively easy work of the ropes binding his legs, letting out a quiet grunt and rubbing his calves. Bullshit. This was all bullshit. Truly, the month from hell. He cut the tape off his face next, and then paused to study his new weapon. There was a big J carved into the handle. Kenny shook his head, eyebrows raised in disbelief. This was _Josh's_ knife? Jesus, it was always the quiet ones. 

Standing laboriously, Kenny stretched again until his spine popped, releasing some latent tension, and wandered over for his leather jacket. He wasn't leaving this place without his jacket--or his cigs, for that matter. He threw the old thing on and adjusted his lapels, before digging a cigarette and a lighter out of his inside pocket and lighting up. The whole place smelled like smoke, because they all did. One more light up wouldn't make that much of a difference. Kenny twirled the knife between his fingers and narrowed his eyes. The stairs would creak, so he had to go slow and stick to the outer edges, the ones that hugged the wall. The floor also creaked in spots, so he would have to be very, very careful. 

But he was out, and the time was now. And he could do this, if for no other reason than that there was no alternative. His choices were escape successfully, or die. And Kenny had no intention of dying tonight. 

Kenny smoked his cigarette quickly, then flicked the used butt onto the cement floor. He pressed his back flush against the wall and shifted one foot on to the first step, testing his weight on the wood. It gave ever so slightly, but didn't make a noise, so he shifted his other foot on to the step and tested the next one. 

He held his breath the whole time, Josh's knife clutched in his fist, easing from stair to stair. The seventh one up whined lowly, and Kenny pinned the blade of the knife between his teeth and distributed some weight, bracing his hands on the next step up. "For fuck's sake," he hissed under his breath, staring longingly at the basement door. Perhaps he was being overly cautious--it was unlikely that they could hear the basement steps creak from two floors up--but he only had one shot at this. 

The fourth step from the top squealed in protest and Kenny froze, eyes wide, gritting his teeth around the knife. Fuck. _Fuck_. He looked up toward the ceiling, straining his ears and waiting until he heard movement. 

It was long. Too long. But it stayed quiet, so he skipped that step, and then he was at the basement door. 

The goddamned thing was locked, but Kenny didn't have his new knife for nothing. He slid the blade in between the door and the jamb, dragging it down until it hit the latch, then gently wiggled it back and forth. This was something that required patience--catching the latch on the blade of the knife and gradually pushing it back until he could open the door, but Kenny's hands were shaking with adrenaline and nerves and it kept slipping loose. 

"Fuck me sideways," he hissed under his breath, pushing the knife back in his mouth so he could shake his hands out. He didn't know if that would steady his grip at all, but _something_ had to be done. He was _so close._

"Alright. Try again. You got this." 

He slid the knife between the door and the jamb again, pressing the blade down firmly until it caught on the latch. He angled the handle down and pulled it back slightly, then, when he was sure it was still catching, rolled the blade forward, angled down, pushed back, again and again and again, until he was able to work the knife between the latch and the wall. He held his breath and turned the doorknob, pinning the latch back with the knife. 

The door didn't give. 

Kenny swallowed thickly and, in his panic, briefly considered breaking the door open with his shoulder. But that wouldn't exactly maintain the degree of stealth he was looking for. He'd just have to troubleshoot. 

He wiggled the knife a little and twisted the doorknob, making sure it hadn't been locked from the outside--which it hadn't. The house was old, the door had to be reinforced with other locks. Taking a deep breath, Kenny twisted the doorknob all the way to the right, and pushed, keeping the knife steady. 

It cracked open, and then Kenny all but threw it open and stepped out. He looked around the dark kitchen, only illuminated by some motion light from an adjacent home coming through the window. He could see fine in twilight, and started poking around in some cabinets in search of liquor. He knew he needed to make a break for it, but goddamn it, he needed a buzz first. He found a bottle in the cupboard over the sink and took a healthy swig, clearing his throat to alleviate the burning. That shit went down like anthrax, but that was part of the charm. 

There was the sound of a boxspring shifting one floor up, and Kenny's eyes slowly traveled to the ceiling. No. No. He was being paranoid. They couldn't have heard him. He'd been so careful. He forced down another two gulps of vodka, then picked up the cap to screw it back on when he heard feet hit the floor. All the color drained from his cheeks. "Fuck," he whispered, frantically closing the vodka and setting it back on the counter. The feet were moving, and with purpose. Kenny cautiously hurried, on his toes, toward the front door, and unlocked it swiftly. 

"Hey!"

Kenny wheeled around and saw Johnny coming at him, and darted out the door, bare feet smacking the cold cement. Part of him felt bad, because Johnny might be upset that he was gone, but the rest of him was too busy hauling ass to worry about all that. It was faster than he'd ever run in his entire life, shallow breathing, arms pumping, paying no mind to the ache in his underused muscles or the stitch in his side. 

Johnny grit his teeth and tore up the stairs, banging on all the other boys' doors. "WAKE UP, KENNY GOT OUT!"

Sal was at the door immediately, growling at the disturbance. "Not my fuckin' problem, twinkle toes. I don't want the fucker and I don't have to help you get him back."

Johnny recoiled when Sal slammed the door in his face, then narrowed his eyes. He knew Pete would probably ignore him, so he started banging on Josh's door. "Josh, I need the car!!"

"What?" Josh padded to the door, rubbing his eyes and squinting at Johnny. "What do you want?"

"Kenny escaped."

Josh's eyes widened, and he suddenly sobered up, grogginess forgotten. "What? How the hell did he get out?"

"I don't know, but I got the alert!" Johnny held up his phone. "The light beam got interrupted when he opened the door, but I dunno how the hell he--"

"Alright, that's--that's fine. Okay. I'll get the car."

Johnny's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he grinned. :"So you're gonna help me? You'll help me get him back?"

"Oh, yeah." Josh nodded, face remaining stoic. "If for no other reason than to figure out how the _hell_ he managed it."


	4. Run for Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting out was nearly impossible, and unfortunately, that was the easy part. Now Kenny is tasked with staying out of his friends' reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 Playlist:  
> Nothing is Safe - clipping.  
> Run for Your Life - clipping.  
> Liberate - Slipknot  
> Broken Sky - Seventh Void

Chest heaving, Kenny tore around the corner, trying desperately to duck out of view enough times to lose the pursuit of Josh's headlights. His senses clicked back into his consciousness every so often, a cruel reminder of his life and his mortality. A stitch in his ribs throbbed, his feet, raw from the abuse by the asphalt, ached, and he was strangely aware of his own breathing. Eventually, he slid into an alleyway between two other houses, crouching in the shadows and breathing laboriously. 

"Kill the lights," Johnny murmured, and Josh slowed to a roll and switched off the car's headlights. They had been through the battery already, building evidence from what they were able to find at the scene of the escape. At 12:45 am, Johnny had gotten an alert on his phone that the beam of the photoelectric sensor he'd installed outside the basement door had been interrupted. Since the door opened outward, and he only turned it on at night, the possibilities of what could trigger it were incredibly limited.

By the time he'd gotten downstairs, Kenny was gone, and the door was still ajar, though the lock latch was closed--he'd jimmied it open somehow. The ropes that had been binding Kenny's wrists and ankles were scattered across the floor, next to a cigarette butt. The vodka was on the counter. Kenny's jacket was gone, but his shoes were still in the house. 

So, they knew what they were looking for: long hair, leather jacket, barefoot, probably holding a knife. Johnny hadn't had time to look for the one they'd cut the body up with, but he'd bet money Kenny had gotten his hands on it. The question was how he'd managed. The assumption that Kenny would give in at some point now seemed so idiotic in hindsight: he was the most stubborn human being Johnny had ever met, and once he put his mind to something, barring total physical incapability, he would see that goal through. Bitterly, Johnny thought that that had been a factor he'd accounted for. They'd never even had a _near_ -escape with another captive. Who could do _anything_ with arms completely immobilized and legs that didn't move below the knee, let alone escape? Perhaps captives past simply hadn't tried hard enough. Or Kenny had tried harder than all of them combined.

"We have our work cut out for us here," Josh informed him, seeming to be thinking along the same lines. "At least in the basement we had him in a controlled environment."

"So we stay out here and run him until his feet bleed. Then we follow the bloody footprints."

Josh raised his eyebrows and threw a sidelong glance in Johnny's general direction, but chose not to respond. It was clear that he had some strong feelings about this, and not just because there was a chance Kenny might rat them out. Keeping Kenny around had seemed to be an important thing to Johnny from the start. Maybe those errant feelings left over from high school went a bit deeper than anticipated.

"Well, we'll find him. Before the sun comes up. We actually got lucky here."

Johnny lifted an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

"He's barefoot and probably has a big knife. It's not like he can run into a public place for safety and be discreet about it."

Johnny nodded pensively. That was a good point. And even if he did, it would probably be more conspicuous to go in and get kicked out than avoid public areas at all. "Keep the lights low, then. We'll check the back alleys. He's smart."

"He can't remain unnoticed forever, though. He'll get tired. He might even fall asleep. He's gonna have to stay low in the daylight, cause...let's be honest, if anyone sees him they'll probably call the cops and try to get him institutionalized. His best chance to get away is right now, and he's half-buzzed and tired from trying to outrun a car." 

Johnny nodded pensively. "Then I say we continue on foot. He'll be watching for a car, not watching for us."

"Good idea." Josh cut the engine and the two of them got out, starting their slow walk down the street. New York was a very big place, but he couldn't have gotten _that_ far. His escape plan had already gone above and beyond. Surely he was tired. "Now, it's possible that he wants to keep moving. But, again, tried to outrun a car. I'd put money on the hide-and-rest method."

"We just need to find a place dark and quiet enough to be a good little hideout."

Johnny and Josh moved quietly down the street, only talking very softly and stepping lightly so as not to draw attention to themselves. They peered into the odd alleyway, looking for any indication that someone might be in there. 

"How far could he possibly have gone?" Johnny murmured. He was starting to get antsy. What if he was still moving? What if they lost track of him?

"He's playing to survive, not to excel," Josh reminded him. "He can't stay on his feet forever. He hasn't used his legs in three full days except to piss and those ropes had to have left bruises. He's only trying to lose us. He won't be running a marathon any time soon." That was all true, and Josh would never lie to placate Johnny, but it was in his best interest that Johnny _be_ placated. Normally he was the calmest of the four of them, but it wasn't good for anybody when he got worked up. "We're gonna find him soon, Johnny."

"Yeah...I guess you're right." He didn't necessarily seem convinced, but there was no time for him to labor on the thought further. As they passed the lit bodega storefronts, it occurred to Johnny that they were approaching another residential area, with small houses much like their own. He glanced at Josh, who seemed to be having the same thought occur to him. "Told you he was smart."

"Yeah, but we're smarter." He actually grinned. "Let's catch a rat." 

Kenny peered out at them from underneath one of the home's porches, dread settling in the pit of his stomach like a stone. How the fuck had they found him?! He had gotten himself out of the last bind (literally) through spite and sheer force of will alone, but he couldn't keep it up much longer. All that shit had worn his body down, and sprinting for his life after three days of inactivity had left him achy and exhausted. He was battling between being dead-tired and totally wired with paranoia--but that wasn't a good thing either. Heightened vigilance compounded with physical strain was going to leave him to crash soon. And then he was as good as dead. He just wanted to go to sleep under this house and get some _rest_ , but he couldn't. He'd sleep in the dirt with the mice and worms if he had to, but it wouldn't be that easy. 

"So how do we draw him out without setting off the motion lights and ransacking a couple houses?" Johnny wondered aloud. 

"He's not gonna be inside," Josh scoffed. "This is New York. Nobody is gonna let a barefoot, knife-wielding crazy person into their house in the middle of the night. He's either...behind, between, under, or...on top of something."

"Crawlspace?" 

"Eh, they're normally locked. Oh, maybe the roof?"

"Nah, they would have noticed. Scaling the side of a house is not a quiet task."

He couldn't have kicked in a basement window or climbed into an open one for many of the same reasons. He had to be quiet and discreet. Sirens would only alert them to his presence, and he needed for that not to happen. 

"Lotta these backyards are fenced off. Hopping a chainlink fence isn't exactly a subtle method either. That doesn't leave him with much..."

Johnny looked around. Fences didn't make _that_ much noise, but he was probably being overly careful. He would have to be. But fortunately, they were planning for that. "The porches."

"What?"

"The porches. They're elevated. Maybe he's under one." 

"Oh, good eye." Josh raised his eyebrows. "Let's poke around a little. You think he'll double down?"

"Maybe. But I hope he runs."

They kept coming. Kenny had been able to see them from a good distance because of the streetlights and Josh's hair (he had a fairly distinctive silhouette), and it was becoming increasingly clear that he had to make a decision. But the dread had paralyzed him. He'd been so caught off guard when Johnny had all but chased him out of the house--he'd thought the hardest part would be getting out. The hardest part, evidently, was staying out. He hadn't even expected pursuit, honestly--well, from Johnny _maybe,_ but he hadn't counted on help. If the rest of them were so eager to get rid of him, what the fuck did it matter how he left?

He readjusted his grip on the knife. He had one saving grace, here, and he wasn't afraid to use it. 

"We should start going door to door and tell them that we're looking for an escaped mental patient," Josh snickered. "They'd tear their own places apart and we wouldn't have to do anything."

Amusing as the thought was, there was a plethora of reasons why that wouldn't work--not the least of which was that "escaped mental patient loose in Brooklyn" would make an excellent headline. No, they had to lure him in. If they caught him running and just chased him down until he dropped from exhaustion, he would continue to fight them every step of the way. They had to make him _want_ to come back, or at least think that he wanted to. Or else they'd go right back to square one. There wasn't any number of locks you could put on a door that would make someone with the amount of raw, unchecked stubbornness that Kenny was endowed with stay put. If he wanted out, he'd find a way. He'd made that very, very clear. 

"Kennyyyyy..." Johnny sang, folding his hands behind his back. "Come out, come out..."

Kenny's stomach all but dropped out, and he gripped the knife and grit his teeth. They weren't gonna scare him out--not easily, anyway. But little did he know, Johnny wasn't watching for a runner--he was watching for _motion._ Someone burrowing deeper into the darkness, or the glimmer of a knife that he was no doubt holding close. 

He was shaking, and it had taken him this long to realize it. Kenny felt like a frightened animal, curled up underneath some unsuspecting family's porch, hiding from a predator. He knew he could trust Johnny, but the thought of being caught by him still terrified him. It wasn't just Johnny, it was everything that came with him: Peter, Sal, his kill count, the body in the basement--

Kenny raked his hands through his hair and wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt. They'd probably sniff him out eventually. But they'd have to come get him. He picked his knife up again and-

"There." Josh nodded toward a house in the middle of the street, where he'd seen a glimmer of metal from underneath a veranda. "He's under there."

Kenny froze as they started toward him briskly, then did the only thing he could imagine--he ran. 

Endowed with enough adrenaline to give him a second wind or two, Kenny gripped the knife as hard as he could and bolted. He paid no mind to how hard he was gritting his teeth or how blistered his feet were; the only important thing was getting away. He skidded around a corner and nearly fell over, but made his decision to round the block and head back toward the shops. Josh and Johnny tore after him, and Johnny seemed invigorated by the new development. Instead of tiring quickly because of the unexpected chase, he seemed just as energized as Kenny was, adrenaline alone carrying him.

Josh peeled off in another direction so it was just Kenny and Johnny, prey and predator. He glanced behind him every so often, and Johnny was always keeping pace. It seemed effortless for him to keep pursuit, and despite the adrenaline shot, Kenny could feel his fatigue catching up to him. He gasped for oxygen, the breaths rough and ragged in his throat, and Johnny smirked. They could work on luring him in once they actually _caught_ him. 

For Johnny, this was not a sprint. This was a marathon. All he had to do was keep up with Kenny: overtaking him wouldn't be necessary. Sheer force of will could do a lot for him, but it would never be enough to overcome a body broken down and exhausted. 

Still, he carried on for longer than Johnny had expected. Even through desperate gasps and the occasional near-fall, Kenny struggled and succeeded in keeping himself upright for far longer than should have been possible. His legs burned now; each step was a labor and shot white pain up through his legs. And Johnny still tailed him, watching his back smugly and waiting for him to trip. 

But he didn't get the chance. Johnny stopped dead in surprise as Josh's car skidded back into view, and _hit_ Kenny, throwing him to the ground.

"What the fuck was that?" Johnny shouted, jogging over and kneeling down beside Kenny. "You could have killed him!" 

"Yeah, but I didn't." Josh rolled the window down and jerked his head. "Get him in before someone sees us."

Johnny pulled Kenny up under the arms and grabbed him around the chest, hauling him up as he stood. His head lolled dumbly on his shoulders, blood trickling down a gash along his hairline. The poor thing. Johnny pulled open the backseat driver's side door and sat down, pulling Kenny in with him as he slid over to the other side. The door shut again, and Josh hit the gas. 

"How are you gonna keep him from getting out again?" Josh murmured, glancing at Johnny in the rear-view. "He's a major flight risk. At this point, he's more of a liability than anything else."

"Are you on my side here or not?" Johnny demanded. "Don't worry. I'm taking a different approach this time. He's not going anywhere."

"Pete and Sal are gonna be pissed." 

"I don't care." Johnny lightly brushed a strand of hair away from Kenny's face. "This isn't up to them."

Josh shook his head, squeezing and releasing the steering wheel. This was certainly going to be interesting.


	5. Aches and Pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 Playlist:  
> Right of Passage/Crossing Over - Silvertomb  
> Bad Seed - Life of Agony  
> 12 Black Rainbows - Type O Negative  
> Day of the Storm - A Pale Horse Named Death  
> Liberate - Slipknot

Kenny's life now seemed to be segmented into chapters punctuated by long bouts of unconsciousness. So, unsurprisingly, he again woke up and found himself on a mattress. This mattress, though, was different than what he had become accustomed to. For one thing, it had sheets, and for another, it seemed to actually be _comfortable._

Squinting through the pale light coming in through the front window, (there was a window?) Kenny struggled to adjust his eyes. His head was, again, throbbing, but this time it wasn't with a hangover. It was throbbing the same way it had when Sal had taken that Louisville slugger to the side of his head. Targeted pain that radiated across his face, into his jaw and through his teeth, thumping erratically like a heart murmur. 

He turned his head and regretted it instantly. A gasp escaped him as a new, fresh burst of pain shot down his neck from behind his ear and came to settle in his right shoulder blade and in a large, pulsating bruise down his ribs. His eyes watered; the pain left him breathless. "Oh god, fuck."

"Hey--hey, you're awake!" Johnny poked his head in and smiled a little. But he really did look bad. That bruise from Sal's bat looked even worse now, and even though Johnny had managed to mop up most of the blood, Kenny was still looking pretty rough. "No no no no, don't sit up. C'mere, I have a painkiller for you."

"It really fuckin' hurts," Kenny winced, screwing up his face. Every movement, no matter how minuscule, brought on a new and different flare-up of pain. 

"Yeah, I know. You're not lookin' great. I'm gonna help you sit up so you can take this, okay?"

"Yeah." Kenny nodded, groaning when Johnny slid a hand under his back and helped push him up. "Shit, what fucking happened?" 

Johnny frowned a little, pushing a lock of hair behind Kenny's ear so he could see his face properly. "You...ran away. And you got hit by a car crossing the street."

"Holy shit." Actually, yeah, that felt about right. "Is...anything broken?"

"No. The doctor said it's mostly just cuts and bruises. You're gonna be sore and in bed for a while, but nothing some ice and care can't fix."

"You took me to the hospital?" Kenny squinted, trying to decipher whatever foggy memories he had of the previous night. 

"Yeah, I did. I hope you don't mind that I took you back here--I thought someone should be there to watch you, and since your mom isn't around anymore..." 

Kenny frowned deeply, slowly nodding his head. That was true, wasn't it? His mother was dead. And all that time spent taking care of her was time during which any other friends he had drifted away and slowly fell out of contact. He didn't have anybody else. It was either stay with the psychopaths or try to take care of this on his own, and...well, the psychopaths were still his friends, weren't they?

Johnny placed a white pill between Kenny's lips and tipped a water bottle so that he could drink. Even the motion hurt his jaw, and swallowing caused fresh blooms of pain in his throat and collarbones. "I'm sorry for bringing it up. I just wanted to make sure...you have someone."

"No, it's...it's okay. I get it." He nodded slowly, hair falling in front of his eyes again. "Thank you. That's...I dunno. Sweet." 

"Okay." Johnny nodded sympathetically and helped Kenny recline again, cringing when he whimpered as hot bursts of new pain shot through his rib cage. "That should help you stop hurting, and maybe fall asleep again. I'll be back in a little while to check on you." He placed a hand on Kenny's forehead, then used it to sweep his hair back. "Get some rest."

Kenny struggled to nod, eyes following Johnny as he got up and started for the door. He threw Kenny one last little smile before stepping out and gingerly shutting the door behind him. 

And now, he had to worry about Sal and Pete, who were waiting for him in the kitchen, no doubt pissed out of their fucking minds. Josh was good at playing the middle, and had said he'd try to talk them down in the meantime, but it was unclear how well that was going to work.

Josh intercepted him at the top of the stairs as he was about to head down, which maybe wasn't a great sign. "Did he buy it?"

"Yeah," Johnny said. "Seemed surprised, but didn't argue it. Besides, it's _like_ we took him to the hospital, right?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

Josh fixed up computers these days, but his original plan was to be an EMT. He'd done it for a while, too. But that was how his apathy had come to the forefront. He just wasn't broken up like his coworkers were over those tear-jerking cases. Crib death, kids playing with guns, freak accidents that left people mangled...of course Josh felt what he was sure was sympathy in name for people who lost their kids or family members to accidents like that, but his primary feelings about those situations were pretty much just morbid curiosity. It intrigued him, to see the limits of the human body. The things that killed people, but also the things that people were capable of living through--stray bullets that struck hearts but missed a killing target, huge chunks of flesh torn away and bones broken only to make full recoveries with the right intervention. 

It hadn't been a case of personal failure, either. His personal feelings had never prevented him from doing his job and doing it efficiently. He did care about helping people in his own way, but he'd stepped back from that job on his own. His lack of empathy hadn't affected his job yet, but he feared that eventually it would. He had no empathy, but that didn't mean he didn't _care._ And none of the people who needed his help deserved to die. What if he grew bored, or complacent, and got to a scene to find someone he thought _did_ deserve to die? 

So, he stepped back from the medical field and started working on computers. It was all of the analytics with none of the humans, and he enjoyed not having to worry anymore. 

But, those skills still came in very handy. In a house full of emotionally unstable people with a history of violence that had access to myriad weaponry, from kitchen knives to the ax in the backyard, there were bound to be injuries. Josh had a small stash of suture kits, bandages, even some strong painkillers. He could fix up most stab wounds and other things in the same vein. Barring broken bones or severe head injuries, the hospital wasn't necessary. 

Kenny had been exceptionally lucky. Josh had purposely decelerated as he approached so that Kenny wouldn't be hit full force. Even a car going 20 miles per hour could throw someone across the street and cause injuries too severe to come back from. He'd been going somewhere between five and ten. The car's momentum had definitely been enough for a solid takedown, and would have left anyone bed-bound for a week or two. He may have cracked a couple of ribs, and he had dislocated one shoulder (which Josh had swiftly popped back in), but nothing was broken. He had also managed, again, to somehow avoid a concussion, which Josh was actually very impressed by. The human head was so wonderfully weird.

"Nothing seemed broken. Any hairline fractures should heal by themselves, but there were definitely no full breaks. And he's got no complaints of numbness or anything?" 

"Nope. Just pain, but he can move around and everything."

"Alright. That bodes better for you, then. They're adamant about not having to take care of broken bones. Pissed that he isn't in the basement, though."

Johnny waved a hand. "They can stay pissed. He can barely even sit up. There's no way he's going anywhere this time."

Josh raised his eyebrows and very nearly argued with him. After all, that was what they'd thought last time. But...the circumstances this time were a little different. After all, he'd gotten _run over._ "Alright. Whatever. Go plead your case." 

The two of them hadn't even gotten all the way to the kitchen table before Sal intercepted them. "Are you out of your _FUCKIN' MIND_?"

"Sal, don't be fuckin' stupid." Johnny walked straight past him and, stunned and seething, Sal followed. 

Peter stood up as soon as they entered the room, mouth already open to tear the two of them a new one. 

"Did you want to let him get out and fuckin' rat on us?" Johnny snapped, cutting him off. "I swear, you two are so fuckin' focused on not having him around you don't stop to think big picture. I was _saving your asses._ "

"Then why the fuck did you drag him into this?" Pete demanded, thrusting a finger at Josh. "If you wanna keep that little rat bastard around, you don't have to drag him along." 

"I volunteered to go with him," Josh drawled. "Two hands are better than one. Having someone in the getaway car is always a plus."

Peter twitched, looking personally betrayed that Josh hadn't taken his side on this one. "Why isn't he in the basement then? He's still a captive." 

But Johnny was ready for that one too, and volleyed it right back. "He's made it very clear that he can get out of the basement, our fail-safes be damned. If he stays up there, we'll hear him moving. Not that he's going anywhere."

"You said that last time," Sal snapped, moving in close to Johnny. Uncomfortably close. Johnny didn't back down though, instead turning to lock eyes with him. "You swore _up and fuckin' down_ that he wouldn't get out of the basement--"

"Yeah, well, it's a little different this time." 

"That's bullshit!" 

"I know it might be a little hard to understand, seeing as you're crippled by mental handicap, but he got _hit by a car._ He can barely sit up, let alone run. He is not going _anywhere."_

Sal growled and moved in even closer, nearly touching noses with Johnny. He could feel his ragged, angry breath on his face, but refused to so much as twitch. Sal thrived off intimidation, and Johnny was not going to let him have that. "What did you just fuckin' say to me?" 

"Sal," Peter warned, taking a step forward, ready to get between them. This happened way too often, especially with these two. As confrontational as Peter was, getting into it with Sal was a whole different deal. Most times, it was just better to back off and make some concessions. And Josh simply didn't care enough to engage him. But Johnny never gave an inch, _ever_ , and one of these days it was going to get him killed. 

"Alright. Then why's he in your _bed,_ you sick bastard?" 

Johnny blinked, almost taken aback by the implication. "What?"

"Sal--"

"He's _in your bed,_ and you're telling me you have no ulterior motives?!"

"He got hit by a car! What was I supposed to do, throw him on the fuckin' floor?"

"That's what I would have done!" 

"This might surprise you, Sal, but we aren't all as sick in the fuckin' head as you are. I'm not gonna fuckin' _rape_ him--"

"DON'T MORAL HIGH-GROUND ME, YOU FUCKIN' KILL PEOPLE!" 

_"OKAY!"_ Peter wedged himself between them and shoved Sal back. He'd seen his fists tighten at his sides, and that meant he was one good insult away from taking a swing. And after he reached that point, it was hard to pull him back. "Okay. Break it the fuck up." He glanced between them. "As much as I hate to say this--and I _do_ , trust me--Johnny's right. If he's as bad as he says he is, then that's the best thing to do. We can worry about what to do with him once he starts walking, but--"

"Oh, you won't have to worry about it." Johnny waved a hand. "Once he's up and about again, he'll be ready to assimilate."

Peter cocked his head to one side. "What?"

"As per our terms." Johnny blinked innocently. "You said he had to assimilate if I was allowed to keep him. So I'm gonna make sure he does."

A vein throbbed in the center of Sal's forehead, and Josh smirked. Again and again, he surprised them. This had all worked out as if it had been planned from the very beginning. It probably hadn't been, but that just proved that the motherfucker could think on his feet. "I think that's fair," he offered, looking amused when Peter whipped around to stare daggers at him. Clearly, he was still put out. 

"Those are the conditions you gave me," Johnny reminded them, practically singing, and Sal audibly hissed. Alright. He wanted to rub it in a little. But seriously, who could blame him? "Besides, he already seems like he's cooled off. His body's so fucked up it's not even possible to be mad at someone taking care of him."

"Aren't you the faithful little candystripe," Sal sneered.

Johnny opted to let that one slide, but flashed a self-satisfied grin at him. It was so easy to get under his skin now that he had the supposed upper hand. "All I'm missing is the little hat." 

By the end of the night, Sal and Peter were still pissed off, so the four of them ended up eating separately for once. Peter and Sal sat at the kitchen table, and Johnny and Josh ate on the sofa, watching Die Hard on TV. Sal would probably begrudge Johnny, and honestly Kenny too, for months to come, but Peter was already starting to calm down about it. It had been clever to hit the bastard with a car, after all, and Johnny had at least proved competence in handling their local flight risk. Besides, their little night at the bar had been fun. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to keep him around after all. He'd missed him during their period apart, and finally seeing him again was what had made him realize it. 

He glanced up at Sal, who was still utterly fuming over his lo mein. He hadn't even attempted chopsticks this time around. Normally he at least fucked with them until he got too annoyed to try anymore, but this time he was just stabbing the contents of his little white takeout box with a fork. "Still pissed?"

Sal looked up. He didn't blink, just studied Peter's face with an odd kind of intensity, an almost wild look in his dark eyes. "You're not?"

Peter shrugged. For as short a temper as he had, the endurance game wasn't his thing. He didn't hold grudges. Not with his brothers, at least. "Eh." 

Sal scoffed, jabbing his noodles again. Peter noticed that he hadn't actually eaten anything; the lo mein seemed to function as more of a punching bag than anything else. "Figures."

"You wanna go let off some steam?"

Mid-stab, Sal paused, finally blinking. "Uh?"

"It's dark out." Peter's eyes flickered over to the kitchen window. "You down for a long drive?" 

He dropped his fork and closed his takeout box. "Yeah, I'll get my boots." 

Better to sate the bloodlust and head it off than wait for Sal to snap, Pete figured. He rose slowly, tugging his leather jacket off the back of his chair. He lingered against the wall for a moment, waiting for Sal to head out of the house and start the truck. 

"Where are you two headed?" Josh murmured, even though he already knew. 

"Out," Pete shrugged. He started out the door, but paused briefly, glancing back at his two friends. "Hey. Good call." 

Johnny smiled a little and flashed him a thumbs up. "Have fun."

"I'll try." He rolled his eyes as an impatient car horn sounded. "See you in the morning."


	6. Human Anatomy 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Kenny's first rite of passage as a member of Type O Negative. He's sworn up and down that he can pull this off, but it's time to put his money where his mouth is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 Playlist:  
> Blood On My Name - The Brothers Bright  
> The Show - clipping.  
> Lollirot - Jack Off Jill  
> Devil Came with a Smile - A Pale Horse Named Death  
> Hey Pete - Type O Negative

The speed with which Kenny had gotten back on his feet had surprised everyone. Within a few days, he was upright yet again and wandering around the house. Johnny followed after him, trying to encourage him to take it easy, but it was in vain, and he knew that. Kenny was a hard one to keep down for very long. 

"How ya feelin', man?" Josh raised his eyebrows and sat down at the kitchen table across from Kenny. A few of his deeper cuts still looked pretty bad, and he was still a little bruised, but he looked better overall. There was more color in his face, and the amount of energy he had was palpable when compared to the previous few days. "Johnny still smothering you?" 

Kenny smiled a little--for the first time in a while, actually--and snapped off a bite of bacon. "Hovering away. He means well, though."

"How'd you finally shake him?" 

"S' taking a shower. Figured I'd sneak down here while he straightens his hair and shit." He nodded at his plate, then back up at Josh. "You make these eggs? They kick ass."

"Naw, thank Peter. He's the king of cheesy scrambled eggs. You've also eaten nothing but PB&J's for...what? A week? Week and a half?"

"That's not true, I had toast the day I came home from the hospital."

Josh cracked a small smile, but said nothing in response. 

"I take it you got your knife back, then," Kenny continued. "It wasn't really my intention to _rob_ you, y'know? I was just trying to get out."

He cocked his head, forking some eggs into his mouth. "My knife?"

"Yeah, man. It was with the body. The hunting knife." Kenny's brow knit suddenly. "You know what I'm talking about, right?" 

"Oh, yeah. And we got that back. But it's not my knife." 

He squinted slowly, settling back in his chair and regarding Josh suspiciously. "Yes it is, there's a huge fuckin' "J" carved into the handle." 

Josh smirked darkly, and lifted his glass of orange juice to his lips. "I'm not the only J name in this house."

Kenny blinked. Admittedly, the thought had occurred to him, but it was an idea that he'd pushed out of his mind very quickly. He understood, in theory at least, that Johnny killed people like the rest of them, but that knife seemed like such a severe weapon to use. It was exceptionally difficult to picture Johnny with it, mutilating some poor son of a bitch just for kicks. And since it had been there, right along with the body that was already severely dismembered...

"Try not to lose sleep over it," Josh advised him wryly, taking another bite of his eggs. "You'll get used to it at some point, but it's better not to drag your feet too much." 

He nodded slowly. That had already been made abundantly clear. Johnny had managed to warm him to the idea a little, and Peter definitely seemed more comfortable having him around than he had when Kenny still had "captive" status. Still, now and then something, some bit of information, emerged that sort of turned his stomach, but he'd have to just work through it. He had a feeling that if he got demoted to the basement again, his chances of making it out alive would be even less than they had been before.

"Hey," Josh said, snapping Kenny out of his reverie. Sal passed behind them and simply nodded at Josh, then went to fix himself breakfast. The guy hadn't said a single word to him since he'd come home, and occasionally shot him a venomous glare, but hadn't yet been outwardly aggressive, which Peter assured him was a good sign. Or, at least, not a bad sign. Everyone in this house honestly seemed to be touchy as shit, and Kenny wasn't looking forward to walking on eggshells for the foreseeable future. 

"What's his deal?"

Josh shrugged one shoulder. Sal's antics didn't seem to vex any of them terribly anymore. "It's always something. He'll cool off soon."

There were footsteps on the stairs, and, more out of habit than anything, Kenny's head snapped up, causing Josh to snicker. "Oh. S'that Johnny?"

"Probably, yeah. Pete's out back doing something with the plants."

The fact that he had a garden in the backyard was actually pretty amusing. And efficient, now that Kenny thought about it. He could probably make his own blood meal if he was really dedicated to the care and keeping of rose bushes. Maybe the corpses were good fertilizer. If he really had that high a body count, it would probably pay to be practical.

"Hey, have you seen--oh." Johnny smiled a little as he stepped into the kitchen. "You found your way down here then."

"Actions speak louder than words. I told you you don't have to worry so much." 

"You know I can't help that." He took a seat between the two of them, pulling his hair into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. Maybe it was the way Kenny had grown accustomed to the smell of damp cement and rotting flesh, but he could smell Johnny's coconut oil conditioner from across the table, and it was enchanting. He still carried with him remnants of mist from a hot shower, and the ends of his hair were beginning to curl the way they did right before he took a flatiron to it. Maybe it was all the time they'd spent sharing a bed, but these were little things that Kenny had grown fond of. "How are your eggs?"

"Pete's a genius," he reported, lifting another heaping forkful to his mouth. "Dunno what the fuck he does that makes these so good, but whatever it is he needs to keep it up."

Johnny grinned. "He makes a big bowl every weekend and we always annihilate it all. No matter how much he makes, Sal always cleans out like half of it."

"Yeah, I see fuckin' why. He's gonna have to start making more, cause Sal's got new competition."

Sal turned around just to glare at the back of Kenny's head, and Josh and Johnny both raised their eyebrows at him. It seemed that he still wasn't over it. Mentally kicking himself, Johnny realized that the transition may have been easier if Sal had been allowed to back him down just a little, but it had become a habit now. And besides, he couldn't just pout and sulk every time he didn't get his way. 

"So uh..." Josh raised his eyebrows pointedly at Johnny. "Not to talk business at the table, but when are we gonna start...y'know." 

"Oh." Johnny raised his eyebrows too, rubbing his chin. "I hadn't thought about it. Didn't expect him to be up and moving this soon."

Kenny glanced over at the two of them, and through a large mouthful, mumbled "whu?"

"Well, y'know. We want to make sure you get exposure to the stuff we do," Johnny replied carefully. He didn't want to toss him headfirst into the whole "murdering people" thing and risk scaring him off, but the faster they started to warm him up to it, the easier the acclimation would be. It demanded a sort of delicate balance.

"Oh!" Josh exclaimed. The idea-lightbulb above his head was practically visible. "Anatomy lesson. Start small."

"Fresh?"

"Fuck no, I said small." 

"That's a good idea. That's a really good idea, actually. Sal, is your latest still down there?" 

Sal leaned against the counter and bit into a strip of bacon. "Yeah. But this isn't gonna work." 

"What? Why?" 

He jerked his head at Kenny. "Doesn't have the stomach for it, I'm afraid. There's no way in hell."

Kenny glanced up at him, pausing mid-bite. He didn't bother with a rebuttal, because deep in his guts, where extant dread still settled like cement, he feared that Sal was right. He could talk a big game, of course; that was the Brooklyn in him. It came with the territory. Usually he could back up whatever bullshit he said, but this? This was a tall order. This was taking a human life, or at the very least desecrating a corpse. And fucking with humans' inherent dignity was not high on his bucket list.

"You said you could blend," Sal reminded him, voice cutting like a cold razor. "Are you fucking with us?" 

"No," Kenny snapped, already kicking himself mentally. _Don't make promises you can't keep! Your life is on the line here, dumbass!_ "I said I could, and I will. Don't you fuckin' worry."

* * *

As soon as the five of them had begun to descend the stairs, Kenny found himself nauseated by nerves. Just being down here again made him incredibly anxious, though Johnny being there comforted him very slightly. The tarp had been moved, presumably to cover a different body, but the mattress was still there. Just that was enough to set his teeth on edge. 

"Gonna choke?" Sal hissed in his ear, the unexpected closeness and the breath on his face causing him to jump. What a creepy bastard. 

"Sal, stop it," Josh chided, as if he was telling a child not to antagonize the family dog. "C'mon, it's natural to be nervous about this."

"He's gonna pussy out," he responded smugly. "And then I'm gonna saw his head off." 

Kenny swallowed, throat suddenly feeling very, very dry. Alright. No fucking pressure then. 

"Alright, no use beating around the fuckin' bush, right?" Peter stomped the rest of the way down the stairs and whipped the tarp off unceremoniously. The smell, instant and putrid, was revolting. Kenny almost gagged before even laying eyes on the body--which wasn't exactly a sight for sore senses. It was already bloated, the abdomen blue and distended. The muscles would already be locked with rigor mortis. The eyes were rolled back in the skull, the mouth open and leaking septic fluids. It was a wonder flies hadn't already descended on their latest victim. 

"This one's a little ripe," he explained, peering down at Kenny sternly, which made him suddenly feel very, very small. "There's pros and cons to that, of course."

Kenny squinted up at him. "There's pros?"

"Well, yeah. It's harder to handle, but it looks less like a person, and more like a body."

Actually, that made a strange amount of sense. Johnny smiled encouragingly and pressed his knife into Kenny's hand, then patted his knuckles. "Thought maybe you'd do better with a knife you're familiar with."

He nodded slowly, and heard himself thanking Johnny, but he suddenly felt as if he was having an out-of-body experience. He was still there, and still present, but felt like he was watching all of this from over his own head.

"You ready?"

He snapped back into himself. His vision was sharp. He could feel his feet again, and wiggled his toes, then slowly flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of the knife in his hand. "...yeah. I'm ready." 

They all gathered in a circle around Sal's victim and knelt in front of it, Kenny at the middle. From this close, the smell was enough to knock you over, but the other guys didn't seem that bothered by it. Peter, to the left and closest to the head, pointed at the distended belly that sat in front of Kenny like a boulder barring his way. "Cut it open." 

Kenny swallowed and lifted the knife. He glanced around at the other guys. Johnny smiled encouragingly at him from his right, and Josh, across the way and next to Sal, nodded at him. Sal, in contrast, looked giddy with anticipation. He knew that Kenny was going to chicken out, and he couldn't wait to get at him for it. 

That was all the motivation Kenny needed. When someone was positive that he wouldn't be capable of something, he tried as hard as he could to prove that bastard wrong. Holding eye contact with Sal, Kenny raised the knife over his head, smirked at him, and thrust it into the dead man's chest. 

The cloud of brown-green gas that erupted from the knife wound was repulsive. Kenny skittered backward like a spooked mouse and pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth, fighting back the mounting urge to gag. His eyes watered, and he coughed, then gasped for air and _did_ gag this time. "Sorry, sorry--I can fuckin' do it, don't worry--"

But Peter was grinning. "Hey, good job. That's the hardest part, if you ask me. That shit's disgusting."

He glanced around at all of them suspiciously. "You don't seem particularly disgusted."

"You know how often we do this. You adjust. You gotta. But this is a normal fuckin' reaction."

Johnny shot him a thumbs-up, and Sal scowled at him. 

"You ready to learn about body parts, Kenny?" Josh asked. "Pick the knife back up."

"And then we'll teach you about disposal," Peter nodded. "We're very efficient."

Kenny reached for the knife and lifted it back up. His hand was shaking slightly, but more from the adrenaline rush from fear this time. The way they all talked about this...they made it seem so _normal._ Rationally, he understood that this wasn't normal. It was so, incredibly fucked up--but rooming with a corpse and having your childhood friends smile in your face while they encouraged you to desecrate a body had a way of fucking with someone's perception of normalcy. 

The body ended up being a little more "ripe" than Peter had thought, so the anatomy lesson had been cut a little short, but he'd managed to find and poke at all the important arteries and had even taken a stab at the trachea. But by that point, the insides were so rotted and septic that it was hard to continue, even for accuracy's sake. It truly didn't even look like human innards anymore. So, the focus became on garbage disposal. Bleach, acid. The body was dismembered and sealed in a drum of hydrochloric acid, and then the entire basement was disinfected. The whole process took hours, and by the end of it, they were all sweaty and tired, but most of them were pleased. It seemed that Kenny had soundly passed his first little exam. Johnny was over the moon, and Pete even expressed that he was pleased. Josh had given him a congratulatory back-slap. It seemed like maybe he would fit in with them after all.


	7. Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***TW!*** This chapter contains a very graphic rape scene! There will be a summary at the end of the chapter if you'd prefer not to read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 Playlist:  
> Broken Sky - Seventh Void  
> Heart of the Devil - Danzig  
> Drown Inside - Seventh Void  
> Wiener Blut - Rammstein  
> Iowa - Slipknot

Sal was pissed. 

Sal was usually pissed about one thing or another, so that in itself wasn't terribly unusual. It was what he was pissed _about_ that had become the issue. He was angry, not only that Kenny appeared to be becoming more accepted within their little group, but also that he was experiencing some measure of success. There was no way he should have had the stomach to do any of that, and sticking a knife into an already-decomposing body out of _spite_ would not a serial killer make. How was he the only one who saw the reality of this situation? The rest of those fucks were hand-holding him, because they were biased, and it had to stop. Some people were cut out for this life, and some were not. And he was certain that Kenny was not. 

The dark cloud that Sal had cast over their Brooklyn home did not go unnoticed. It was darker than normal, and it was beginning to affect the others' moods. Peter was noticeably more irritable and snapped at everybody now, and even Johnny seemed unusually on-edge--a stark contrast to his usual bubbly disposition. It was hard to sway Josh in these situations, but even he seemed more tired than he usually was. All of this made Kenny incredibly uneasy. He didn't have a baseline to go off here, and had no idea why any of this was happening. All he knew was that every single one of his brand new housemates was acting really, really weird, and for no apparent reason. 

He stepped carefully for the next few days, staying relatively quiet and doing his own thing. He stuck to silent and unobtrusive activities--mostly, he read. Peter had a big collection of books: fiction, poetry, and literary classics. Kenny had always been an avid reader, so minding his own business and getting lost in a few novels was no tall order. He only watched television or listened to music when someone else started it first to avoid accountability. Again, he found himself skirting along the edges in order to survive.

A fortuitous opportunity arose one day: Sal sulked in his room, Peter tended his garden, and Josh worked on rewiring some circuit board at the kitchen table. Kenny and Johnny sat on the sofa together, watching some dumb sitcom on TV. When one of the louder commercials came on, Kenny looked over at Johnny and mouthed "what's going on?"

Johnny raised his eyebrows, seemed confused for a second, then melted into an apologetic smile. "Oh. Yeah. No, don't worry about this. Sal is just--"

"This is not just Sal," Kenny hissed, careful to keep the volume of his voice below that of the program. "You're all acting weird as fuck!"

"His constant brooding gets under our skin sometimes," he admitted, shaking his head a little. "And it shouldn't. But--"

"So what set him off?" Kenny lifted an eyebrow. "...It was me. He didn't think I'd do it."

"No, it--" Johnny frowned. "Alright. Yeah. But...don't take it personally. Or...try."

He shook his head, and managed a small smile. "Nah, he's full of shit anyway. Don't worry." Kenny paused for a beat. "It's just him, yeah? You're not all like, secretly pissed at me?" 

"Nobody's putting you back in the basement, if that's what you're asking." Johnny reached over and patted his hand lightly. "Don't worry about that."

Kenny smiled a little and curled his fingers around Johnny's briefly, before both hands returned to their respective laps. The two boys smiled to themselves, and returned their attention to the screen. An hour or so crept by. Kenny had reclined sideways on the sofa with his head resting on the armrest, watching their show with one eye, his book open on his chest. 

After the fourth time he yawned, Johnny smiled and peered over at him. "You wanna go upstairs and take a nap?" 

He lifted his head and squinted at Johnny, already looking terribly sleepy. "What? I can?"

"Yeah, of course. It's as much your bed as it is mine at this point. Go get some sleep."

"Thanks, babe." With a loud grunt, he hauled himself off the sofa and rubbed his eyes. Kenny stuck the bookmark back in his book and put it back on the couch, grinned at Johnny, and started up the stairs. "G'night."

"Sleep well!" 

Kenny reached the landing and glanced around cautiously. He knew Sal was still up here somewhere, and it would probably be better if he didn't draw any attention to himself. 

In the five seconds that Kenny had his back turned to open the bedroom door, Sal had exited his own bedroom, crossed the hall, and grabbed a fistful of Kenny's hair. Where the head went, the body followed, and as he yanked Kenny's head back, he bent backwards, lost his balance, and then staggered. Before a surprised gasp could even leave his mouth, or a shout of protest, or anything, he was being smothered in the crook of Sal's elbow. The back of his head hit Sal's chest and Sal began to apply pressure with his arm, which was so strong that Kenny couldn't even open his mouth to breathe. He thrashed, trying to scratch and claw at Sal's arm, but it didn't even seem to bother him. 

He used Kenny's hair to help drag him into Johnny's bedroom, and pushed the door shut with his foot. As soon as he took the arm away, he snapped Kenny's head back and threw him to the floor.

His neck ached from the abuse, but Kenny still managed to prop himself up on his elbows and try to inch away. "What the fuck are you doing? Sal, come on--" 

Sal crouched down and grabbed him by both ankles, yanking him forward and flipping him on his stomach in one slick motion. These were skilled hands, Kenny realized, suddenly sick with dread. This was effortless. Sal had done this before. Sal had done this probably _dozens_ of times. And _what_ he had done--

He straddled the back of Kenny's legs and forced his face down into the carpeting. Kenny's eyes widened as he distinctly felt something stab the inside of his thigh, and he started struggling to get free. With renewed energy, mostly from panic, he began to writhe and kick, and reached up to grab Sal's arm before he used his free hand to pin Kenny's wrists over his head. The pressure on the back of his head suddenly vanished, and was replaced with the sound of a belt being forced open, but it gave him an opening to lift his head. 

"Wait!" Kenny gasped, straining to look back at him. "Wait wait wait, don't fuckin' do this man, come on! Don't do this, I'll fuckin' do anything--"

"...anything?" Suddenly there was a hand in Kenny's hair again, and it twisted right at the scalp and lifted his head up. Sal leaned down to whisper right in his ear, and the hot breath on his neck made Kenny wince. "Alright."

With a thud, Sal dropped Kenny's head to the ground and released his arms. He took a shaky, but relieved breath, and blinked slowly. That had been way too fucking close. The weight on his thighs lifted as Sal climbed off him, and Kenny raised a hand to run his fingers through his thoroughly-yanked hair. The "anything" plea made him keenly aware that at some point, he was going to pay through the fucking nose for having the audacity to meet their impossible standards. But he was just glad that it wasn't now, and it wasn't that way. 

As Kenny finally sat up, Sal's hand shot out and pulled him forward again. This time, he wasted absolutely no time in forcing Kenny to the floor and dropping down to straddle his chest. He grabbed each of his wrists, before he even had time to process what was happening, let alone fight, and pinned them down--one underneath each of his knees. 

Eyes wide with steadily advancing horror, Kenny only managed to choke out "What are you doing?" before Sal, now with both hands free, started to unfasten his belt again. He tried to move his arms, and then tried again and strained under the effort, but it was no use. That was obvious to both of them. Sal was a very solidly-built specimen, and he knew how to throw his weight around. Kenny's fingers were already getting pins and needles. Pushing up with his legs, he managed to arch his back, but that didn't affect anything above the waist. He had neither the leverage necessary nor the brute strength that would have been required to topple Sal from such a vulnerable position.

"Open your mouth." 

The command made Kenny's blood run cold. He stared up at Sal, swallowed thickly, and squeezed his lips shut. 

Sal pulled his dick out (he was already rock-hard, the sick fuck) and growled down at his victim, sounding more animal than human. "I'm not asking again."

Kenny stubbornly refused to open his mouth, and turned his head to the side so Sal wouldn't be able to get at him. But the two free hands changed the game. He grabbed Kenny's jaw with one hand and turned his head back, then slid his palm down to apply pressure to his throat. With the other hand, Sal squeezed his nose closed, and watched with grim fascination as Kenny's cheeks puffed out and his face darkened with the effort to hold his breath. The best he could do was nowhere near good enough, and when his lungs had started to burn, he caved. Kenny gasped harshly, desperate for oxygen, and as soon as his lips parted Sal had already crammed two fingers into his mouth to pry it open. Sal braced his other hand against Kenny's forehead and used the additional leverage to keep his mouth from closing. He squeezed Kenny's jaw with his remaining three fingers, then slid the two he'd used to open his mouth initially straight down his throat. 

Kenny gagged. Hard. He couldn't help it, and didn't even have a chance to try and fight off the impulse. He seized up a little, but Sal held him steady and just smirked. "That's good. I like when they gag." 

As nauseating as that statement was, Kenny didn't have any time to dwell on it. His mouth was being forced open like his jaw was on a hinge, and Sal was shifting steadily closer as if to build suspense. He did the only thing he could think of with his mouth open so wide, and screamed.

Sal hissed under his breath and slapped a hand over his mouth, cutting off the sound. The fact that he hadn't scared Kenny soundless frustrated him, but there were ways to control for conditions like this. He dug his other hand into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. It snapped open, revealing a lethally sharp edge, the point of which he poked into Kenny's throat. "If you scream, or if you try to bite my fuckin' dick, I'm gonna cut your throat. You understand?" 

Eyes wide, Kenny nodded slowly. Sal wasn't bluffing, and he knew that. He seemed like a "slit throats first, ask questions later" type of person, and he would definitely find any reason to take some hardware to Kenny's major arteries. There didn't appear to be a way out of this. He was going to have to just...let this happen. 

Slowly, Sal lifted his hand off Kenny's face, and seemed satisfied when he didn't try to struggle or scream again. He was accepting his fate. Maybe this incident would drive him to suicide. "Open."

Stomach turning with self-hatred, Kenny opened his mouth. 

Sal twisted a hand in his hair again and jerked his head up, ramming his cock down his throat. Kenny gagged so hard that his eyes watered, and gasped when Sal pulled back. The edge of the knife dug into his skin, reminding him of what was at stake here. He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth again before Sal even had to bark out the command again, and he coughed around Sal's dick as it was forced back into his mouth. 

It was the longest period of Kenny's entire life. What felt like hours probably lasted less than fifteen minutes, but it was the vulnerability that destroyed him. Flat on his back, unable to fight or retaliate, saliva and the odd tear running down his face and into his hair. He could have stopped this; he was sure of it. Maybe if he'd said "no" more loudly, or...or watched his back coming up the stairs, he could have prevented this. He hadn't been careful enough, or assertive enough, or _clear_ enough. His own safety be damned, he should have fought harder. Bitten him, screamed louder, kicked out at him or thrown an elbow. But he didn’t do any of that. There was a knife to his throat, and he was afraid. Was it wrong of him to be afraid? 

Sal pinched Kenny's nose closed again and leaned all the way forward, supporting his weight with an elbow over his head. He began to pump his hips against Kenny’s mouth, forcing his cock down his throat over and over until tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was choking and gasping for air. 

He stalled suddenly and let out a guttural groan. Kenny coughed a little, whimpering as his mouth filled with some thick, salty fluid. ...oh, god, Sal had just _cum_ —

A large hand was covering his mouth again, pressing his head back against the floor. Kenny’s nose was still closed, and Sal had made sure of that, so, yet again, he couldn’t breathe at all.

”Swallow,” Sal snarled. Kenny loathed himself, but did as he was told, and his chest jumped with a gasp as he was released. 

His eyes followed Sal as he climbed off him and put his dick away, then started to buckle his belt. He looked so fucking self-satisfied, and Kenny just felt nauseous. His face was flushed, burning red from oxygen deprivation and shame. Slowly, he sat up, supporting his weight on hands that were just now starting to regain their feeling. Kenny kept his eyes low. He wanted Sal to just fucking leave so he could lick his wounds in peace, but that wasn't happening.

In fact, Sal sat back for a moment to appreciate his own handiwork. The little bastard needed to be knocked down a peg or five, and that was exactly what he'd done. He couldn't have him getting _too_ comfortable here. Not when he was really just doomed to fail. As Kenny lifted a hand to wipe his face, Sal couldn't help but smirk. Were those _tears?_ How fucking pathetic. 

He stalked over, just to make his point abundantly clear, and grabbed Kenny's hair again, which triggered him to let a sob escape. Honestly, he hadn't even looked this bad at his mother's funeral. Sal was pretty proud of himself. "We don't need to tell anybody about this. Right?" Sal twirled the switchblade casually between his fingers, then traced the point along Kenny's neck. 

Kenny nodded and stared straight ahead, hating himself for every tear that ran down his face. 

"Say it."

"I won't tell anyone," he whispered hoarsely. 

"Good." He straightened back up and snapped the knife back into its sheath. "Cause you know what happens if you do. I might come back for a repeat just to see you cry again." Sal smirked and quietly shut the door behind him on his way out. 

Kenny stared at the door for a long time, and then sniffled. He grunted under his breath and scrubbed at his eyes, running his hands over his face, but that didn't stop the tears, fresh and hot, from falling down his cheeks and between his fingers. The pot was boiling over. He was shaking--really hard, actually, and he had just noticed. Jesus, he felt disgusting. That was disgusting--and _scary!_

And there was the self-hatred again. He shouldn't have been scared. He should have fought back. He should have...

He shook his head hard. That didn't make any sense. Kenny dragged himself to his feet slowly and wiped his eyes, resolving not to think about it until he had a clearer head. Blaming himself for something that someone else had done to him didn't make any kind of logical sense, and yet here he was, mired down in thoughts produced from that very vein of logic. 

Kenny crawled into bed and curled up on the left-hand side (his side), pulling the blankets up to his neck and shutting his eyes. 

Drained and suddenly exhausted, it wasn't hard for Kenny to fall asleep. When Johnny came up for bed a few hours later, he was surprised to find him snoring, cocooned in their comforter with his mouth open. He smiled a little and carefully eased the duvet back, sliding into bed with him and stroking his hair away from his eyes. He looked exhausted, even in his sleep. His cheeks were pink, and deep circles sat underneath his eyes. Maybe he needed the sleep more badly than Johnny had thought. 

He curled closer and grinned when Kenny wriggled right into him. Gently, Johnny ran his fingers over Kenny's jaw and pressed a kiss to the center of his forehead. He looked so peaceful when he wasn't being...well, Kenny. "Goodnight," he whispered, resting his chin on top of Kenny's head and allowing him to nestle into his chest. "Sleep tight. Don't let the monsters bite." 

But little did he know, they already had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SYNOPSIS:   
> Sal is pissed about Kenny's perceived success at his last task. He is so enraged that it begins to affect the moods of everyone else in the house. Kenny, confused, asks Johnny for an explanation when they have a moment alone, and Johnny explains that it isn't really his fault, but Sal's volatile moods tend to wear away at all of them. After a while of relaxing on the sofa, Kenny begins to yawn, and Johnny encourages him to go up to their shared bedroom and get some sleep. He does, and Sal ambushes him in the hallway as he's about to enter Johnny's room. He drags him into the bedroom and rapes him at knife-point with the intention to humiliate him and "knock him down a peg." His goal is to prove that he doesn't belong with part of their group. After Sal leaves, Kenny gets in bed and tries to fall asleep like he had originally intended. Johnny comes upstairs hours later to find him sound asleep but clearly drained-looking. He kisses his forehead and curls up with him, none the wiser to anything that had occurred.


	8. The Hysteria of a Man with Nothing to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retribution!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 Playlist (Violent Revenge Edition):  
> My Plague - Slipknot  
> Closing In - Seventh Void  
> Iydkmigthtky - Type O Negative  
> Killing You Slow - Seventh Void  
> Dead Again - Type O Negative

Kenny had been spending a lot of time in bed lately. He did seem more tired than usual, but he also sort of seemed...off. He had less energy. He stared off into the distance sometimes. He always had so much _personality,_ and now it seemed like it had been watered down by something. Conversely, Sal was in a better mood than anybody had seen him in in days, which was a different kind of worrying. It was like a switch had flipped, but no matter how many times or how many ways Johnny tried to get information out of either of them, neither one would give it up. Kenny skirted the question by insisting that he felt okay, he was just tired, or nauseous, and he was sure he would get over it soon. Sal deflected the question by saying things like "what the fuck do you care?"

It had seemed like Kenny was getting sick when he finally woke up from his nap the next morning, because his throat was sore and his voice was strained and hoarse. He didn't have a fever or anything, but it wasn't inconceivable that he'd gotten a cold or something that was just kicking his ass. Stress could do that to a person, after all. But it didn't explain why Sal was a pleasure to be around for the first time in more than a week, and Johnny couldn't help but feel that the two instances were connected.

"Why don't we go for a walk?" he murmured, stroking Kenny's hair lightly. A deep frown plagued his features. Kenny had been up in the middle of the night vomiting, and Johnny had found him half asleep, slouched over the toilet, his cheek stuck to the seat. He'd helped him get back up and encouraged him to come to bed, but he refused to go back to sleep until he'd brushed his teeth five separate times. When he finally had returned, he'd done so with red-rimmed eyes, and Johnny was angry on his behalf. Whatever had upset him like this, he was going to destroy. 

"I don't really feel up to it." 

"Fresh air would do you some good, y'know?" Kenny didn't seem convinced, and Johnny cocked his head and smiled a little. "If you come with me, we can get ice cream." 

Kenny squinted from under the covers. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Whatever you want. But you gotta come outside with me."

The promise of a better-than-usual depression meal actually did get Kenny out of bed, and he had to admit that he felt better after feeling the sun on his face and getting to move his legs. It was mild for June, not quite cool enough for a sweatshirt, but not oppressively hot either. It was perfect walking weather. The two of them didn't talk much, but the silence wasn't awkward. It was Kenny's first chance to really think without spiraling out: maybe the physical motion allowed his thoughts to move forward as well. He decided that he wasn't going to allow Sal to torment him anymore. And he wasn't going to hate himself over what had happened, or, at least, he was going to try his best. He'd have to redirect all that energy, though, so he wouldn't drive himself nuts. 

"Thanks for talkin' me into this," Kenny said, reaching across the little square Baskin Robbins table to squeeze Johnny's hand. "I feel better." 

"I'm glad." He squeezed his hand back and smiled. "Never underestimate what a change of scenery will do for you."

"View's still nice, though." Kenny laughed when Johnny looked down, and leaned over to peek at him behind his curtain of hair. "Are you blushing?"

"Shut the fuck up," Johnny scolded, unable to help his own flushed grin. "Don't be a jackass." 

"You should know what you're getting into." He winked, and Johnny snickered.

The walk home was comfortable. The sun was bright, and around the neighborhood, flowers peeked out at them from sun-drenched gardens. Every so often, they stopped to check some out, trying to find some type of flower that was lower maintenance than Peter's goddamned roses. Most things, it turned out, were lower maintenance than roses, and could easily flourish in a front yard or a pot with a little water and adequate sunlight. But Pete liked his roses, so they figured it would be hard to convince him.

By the time they got home, Kenny was in much better spirits, and it seemed like he was back to being himself, at least a little. Johnny was just glad to have made him smile again. And, even better, Kenny didn't just crawl into bed again. He stayed downstairs for a long time, lounging on the sofa with Johnny or bugging Josh at the kitchen table, even badgering Pete with questions about inane shit that made him roll his eyes. Annoying? Perhaps. But it was a relief to see him in a better mood. 

At some point during the lazy Sunday lull, Sal came down the stairs and announced that he would be making dinner for all of them. That was another weekend plus, like Peter's cheesy eggs, which Kenny had been absent for the latest installment of (had he really spent the last week in a depressive slump?). Sal spent hours of his Sundays in the kitchen (when he was in an agreeable mood, unlike the previous week), making a gigantic pot of sauce, meatballs, and pounds and pounds of pasta. It was Nonna Abruscato's recipe, and despite what a jackass he could be, it was sort of sweet that he was always on the phone with his grandmother, who genuinely believed that her scumbag grandson could do no wrong. She was a nice lady, and they had all met her, but she was a genuinely terrible judge of character. 

_"Sì sì sì, lo so!_ Okay _, Nonna, ti amo. Si, anche io ti amo. Devo andare. Addio."_

Sal hung up the phone and put it back on the hook, and turned to see Peter surveying his setup. He had to be in a good mood for a few days at a time in order to do this, because he needed to get fresh produce for his sauce. There was a decent amount of planning involved, and Pete was the worst backseat chef of them all. He threatened Sal's mood every single time. "No. No way, get the fuck outta here."

"How's Nonna?"

"She's fine. Get out of my kitchen."

"I heard a couple of "te amo's", Sally. Do you wuv your grandma?"

"Shut the fuck up. Either make yourself useful and dice onions, or get out." He waved the wooden spoon around in a way that distinctly reminded Peter of the formidable Mrs. Abruscato, and he lifted his hands defensively and took a step back. 

"Last time I diced onions you yelled at me."

"Alright, then _get out!"_

Peter re-entered the living room to find that Josh had already taken shelter there, and their newest addition was nowhere to be found. "Where's Kenny?"

"Taking a shower. He wanted to get cleaned up before dinner." 

"How thoughtful of him." Peter wedged himself between Josh and Johnny on the couch. "What are we watching?"

After fifteen or twenty minutes, Kenny came back downstairs, wearing the clothes he'd originally come in, wet hair hanging in front of his face. 

"Well, would you look at this."

"He's wearing real pants! God bless."

"Yeah, yeah. Alright." He waved a hand at them, but turned in a circle for his adoring fans anyway. "Where's Sal at?"

Johnny lifted an eyebrow skeptically. "You're... _looking_ for Sal?"

"Yeah. He uses that bat, right? I wanna try my hand at using Pete's axe, and I was gonna ask him for some pointers on aim, y'know?" He mimed swinging a bat. "The slashing appeals to me, but I'd like a weapon I can swing." 

Maybe the two of them would actually start to get along now. This was a good time to catch him, anyway. Bright moods like this were rare. "Oh, uh...he's making dinner. In the kitchen."

Kenny cocked his head. "Sal's making dinner?"

"Yeah, pasta and sauce."

"Order a pizza."

Peter frowned. "Did you hear what he just said?" 

"Yeah, and I said order a pizza."

Kenny turned on his heel to walk into the kitchen, and Johnny stood up with him. What the hell did he mean by that? 

"Hey, Sal."

"What the fuck do you want--" 

Sal began to turn, and in a split second Kenny yanked up the hem of his shirt and tore Johnny's knife out of his waistband. He cocked his arm back and brought the knife down on Sal, who just barely got his arms up in time to protect his face. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

 _"Hold fuckin' still!"_

Kenny slashed at Sal viciously with the serrated edge of the knife, catching him right in the ribs and cutting straight through his shirt. He backed him into the counter and grabbed his collar, pinning him back against the granite countertop. The other three rushed into the room just in time to see Kenny bring the knife down again, all the forced-back and bitten-down rage from the past week igniting like a match to a gas can. The knife slashed through Sal's flesh with all the resistance of warm butter, and as his mouth opened with the beginning of a scream, the metal shone from inside his mouth. He'd cut straight through Sal's cheek. 

"Kenny, what are you doing?!" 

He ignored the plea--in fact, he barely processed it at all--and instead grabbed Sal's hair for leverage and forced the knife to saw through his skin, ripping right through his cheek to cut cleanly through the seam of his lips. Half a Joker smile. 

Sal reacted hard and punched Kenny directly in the face, snapping his head back. But it didn't even seem to faze him, and he embedded the knife right near Sal's collarbone, then tore it right back out, a trail of blood splatter following it. Kenny yanked Sal's hair at the scalp and twisted, forcing him to bend backward over the counter. He lifted the bloody knife to his throat and stared down at him, hard, daring him to move.

"So what are you gonna do?" Sal's voice was shaking. Fear was such an odd look for him, but so terribly satisfying. "You gonna kill me now? Is that it?" 

"No. You made it clear that I don't have the stomach for that, remember?" In contrast, Kenny's voice was almost frighteningly level. He wasn't even out of breath. He was talking like it was a normal conversation, like he hadn't just sliced someone's face open, like he didn't have an uncharacteristically wild look in his eyes. He poked at Sal's pulse point experimentally, which now throbbed with adrenaline, before twirling the knife between his fingers. "I'm gonna cut your tongue out." 

All the color instantly drained from Sal's face, and his eyes widened hysterically. "W-what?" 

"I'm going to cut your tongue out," Kenny repeated slowly, as if clarity were the issue. "I'm sick of hearing you talk." 

"Someone get him the fuck away from me," Sal whispered, wriggling underneath Kenny. Blood was pouring out of his face and dripping onto the floor and counter, and had already soaked through the left side of his shirt. 

Peter stepped forward to intervene, and Kenny twisted Sal around, kicking his knee out and forcing him to kneel on the ground. He held him upright by the hair and leveled the knife with Sal's throat. "Tell them. Tell them what you fucking did."

Sal swallowed. "You're not gonna kill me."

"If you dropped dead right now I'd fuckin' celebrate, I don't care if I have to be the one to do it," Kenny growled, jabbing the point of the knife into his neck. "Fucking _do it, Sal!"_

 _"Alright!_ Alright, okay, I attacked him the other day--"

_"And?"_

Sal swallowed. If Kenny didn't end up killing him, Johnny almost certainly would. "I forced him to suck my dick." 

Ignoring the horrified expressions of his friends, Kenny pulled Sal's hair harder and dug the blade into his skin. _"Louder, Sal!"_

"I FORCED HIM TO SUCK MY DICK, ALRIGHT?! I put a knife to his fucking throat and made him do it, is that what you wanted me to say?!" 

"Yeah. That's exactly it." Kenny lifted the knife again and brought it down to finish off his handiwork, but before the knife could make contact with flesh, Peter darted over to them and grabbed Kenny around the waist, hauling him clean off the ground. "SAL, IF YOU EVER SO MUCH AS KNOCK INTO ME IN THE HALL I'LL CUT YOUR TONGUE OUTTA YOUR GODDAMN HEAD--PUT ME DOWN, MOTHERFUCKER! I'M NOT FUCKIN' DONE!"

"Oh, you're fuckin' done." Pete hugged Kenny to his body and pinned him to the wall, trying to wrestle the knife out of his hand. "Alright--alright, come on. Let go, Kenny!"

"Don't fuckin' protect him! Don't fuckin' do that to me, you heard what he did!" Kenny's voice cracked a little, and he started struggling to get out of Peter's grip. "Let me down!"

"I'm not protecting him," Peter murmured against the back of his head, keeping his voice level. No, Sal was not a person that warranted protecting. Not after he did things like that. But killing him or even cutting out his tongue would be too easy. He deserved to stay alive and pay for his sins. Kenny would see that once he calmed down. "Let him live and suffer."

"I don't fuckin' want to!" He kicked back at Peter hard, and he responded by leaning all his body weight against Kenny. "He should die for that!"

"I know. I'm...sorry. That he did that," Pete murmured, swallowing hard. That was fucked up, even by their standards. Honestly, Kenny had every right to feel the way he did. He almost regretted breaking them up. 

Eventually, the pressure began to soothe Kenny, and he allowed himself to relax. The knife fell from his hand and clattered to the floor, spattering Sal's blood on the ground. A few errant tears rolled down his cheeks as he came down. Peter felt him shaking a little as the adrenaline began to abate. 

"If I put you down, can I trust you to stay put?" 

Slowly, Kenny nodded. Even if he had the energy to pick up the knife and charge at him again, he had lost the momentum. The fire in his gut had burned out. 

"Alright. I'm putting you down." Peter gently set Kenny back on the ground, and watched him suspiciously for a moment to make sure he stayed still. He turned around and rested his back to the wall, then sunk down to the floor, knees curled up. His nose was gushing blood and probably broken from that punch. He looked like a little kid who'd just wreaked havoc on the schoolyard.

Josh had already run for gauze and suture kits, because that _would_ require stitches, but now the trick was to keep Johnny from eviscerating Sal. He had a long fucking fuse, too, but when he snapped, Johnny could scare even the biggest and bravest. He was not the one you wanted to fuck with. 

Pete lunged forward as he saw Johnny reach for the knife block and wrestled him to the ground. "Johnny--Johnny, don't!" 

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" Johnny spat, writhing underneath Peter with a surprising amount of strength. "Let me up so I can _kill that bitch--"_

Sal screamed as Johnny nearly wriggled desperately out from underneath Peter and grabbed for him, scrambling backwards and sliding in the puddle of his own blood. _"GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!"_

"I'm fuckin' working on it!" Peter grunted, throwing himself on top of Johnny and pinning him down. If he couldn't get at a knife, Johnny would rip Sal apart with his bare hands. "But I really should let him get you for that shit--"

"YOU SHOULD, SO LET ME UP!"

"Johnny, he's not dying today," Peter snapped sternly, relaxing his muscles and exerting all of his dead weight on Johnny. Make gravity do the work for him. "Go help Kenny. He's shot."

"This _is_ helping Kenny--"

"Johnny, listen to me." Peter pressed a hand to his temple. He could feel Johnny's chest expanding underneath him, quick and manic like a lion closing in on a wildebeest. "Sal doesn't get to suffer if you kill him. But Kenny is over there, and he's shot, and his nose is bleeding. Why don't you help him get cleaned up?"

Sal stared at the two of them, eyes wide in his still-gray face. He understood what Peter was doing, and he hoped it would work. The only way to prevent him from ripping Sal to shreds was to divert to something that he cared about more. 

"It already happened. You can't prevent that. But you can help him now."

Slowly, Johnny turned his head, and blinked at Kenny. He was curled up against the wall, chin resting on his knees, occasionally mopping blood off his face with the back of his hand. He looked sleepy; his eyes looked hollow. He was visibly exhausted, but hopefully this time in a way that offered him some relief. "...okay." 

Peter carefully allowed Johnny to stand, and he slowly walked over to sit down beside Kenny. Pete let out a relieved sigh, and rested his forehead on the kitchen tile. Thank fucking Christ. 

Josh slid smoothly into the room right as Johnny left, mouthing "nice" at Peter, who just nodded in return. He got to work cutting Sal's shirt open, then began to pack his facial wound with gauze to slow the bleeding. Honestly, it was a pretty clean slice, so closing it wouldn't be the hardest thing. Sal would be taking painkillers for a while to come, and have one cheek packed with cotton for the next few days at least until the stitches stopped oozing, but it was doable. 

"Thanks," Sal slurred, finally becoming aware of the pain he was in. Kenny and Johnny had each scared him shitless in turn, but once the shock began to wear off...his face and various points on his torso _burned_. 

"He has every right to want you dead," Josh responded simply, pulling out his curved needle. "Stay still." 

Peter glanced over at Johnny, who was cradling Kenny's cheek in one hand and using a napkin to wipe his face clean. The latter still seemed out of it, but wasn't pulling away, which meant that he at least was not uncomfortable. 

"I told you guys to order pizza," Kenny murmured. It was the first normal thing he had said since he'd attacked Sal, and Johnny nearly laughed at how absurd it sounded. 

"Are you hungry?" 

He nodded, blinking slowly and looking an awful lot like a tired child. "Yeah. I want pizza with meat." 

Johnny glanced over at Peter, who was still lying face-down on the kitchen floor. "Pete, I'm gonna order a pizza. You want in?"

"Yeah. Better get two, then." This was absurd, and completely ridiculous, but logic be damned, he was hungry. And there would not be any kind of Italian Sunday dinner tonight. "And a chicken parm roll." 

"Get me a spinach pinwheel," Josh called. 

"Do you want anything else?" Johnny asked, cocking his head down at Kenny as he rose to get the phone. 

He shook his head, then reached one hand out for him. "Will you still sit with me?" 

"...yeah. Oh, yeah. Of course. One minute." He ran off to retrieve the landline, then sat back against the wall with Kenny, allowing him to rest his cheek against his shoulder. "Hi, I'd like to place an order for delivery."

Grunting laboriously, Peter dragged himself to his feet and swept his ponytail off his shoulder. "This is gonna be a bitch to clean up."

"It sure is," Josh nodded, threading his needle through Sal's cheek deftly. Though he was tempted to slow down and make it hurt more, he wanted to get it over with. "You better start as soon as you're done, or you'll be up all night."

Sal stared up at him. "...whuh?"

"I mean, I'll give you a hand because I'm nice, but you're cleaning all this up. You had it coming. And fair's fair." 

Johnny hung up the phone and set it down beside him, then turned to Kenny to inform him that their order would be here in twenty minutes--but he had already dozed off. He smiled a little and leaned back, careful not to disturb him. And he hoped that, for once, Kenny would sleep well.


	9. A Man with a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny's work is never done.

"You know you guys don't have to tiptoe around me, right?" Kenny checked the measurements on a pair of black jeans, then gathered three of them into his arms. "I'm not gonna do anything to you."

"Yeah, we know," Josh reassured him. "But still. It was an awful lot of rage to come out of such a little dude." 

"We had the same reaction the first time we saw Johnny snap like that," Pete added. "It's always the ones you don't expect."

The four of them (minus Sal, of course) had ventured to Target to get Kenny some new clothes. He only had the jeans and muscle shirt he'd arrived in, which were both now covered in Sal's blood, and a pair of sweats and a Black Sabbath shirt on loan from Johnny. He needed everything, from sneakers and socks to boxers. The other guys were gonna help him find stuff, and generally help him settle in. It was clear at this point that he had a future among them. 

"I've definitely never seen a look on your face like that before," Johnny said, pulling a pack of undershirts off the shelf and tossing them in the cart. "We all kinda froze. It was a little scary."

"Oh. Uh...I don't really remember that part." Kenny rubbed the back of his neck and grabbed a fourth pair of jeans to be totally safe. He really only wore the one type anyway. "Josh, how's Sal doing?" The other three went quiet, and Kenny frowned. Well, fuck him for trying. He didn't like the fucker, but he was trying not to be weird about stabbing their friend like four different times and hacking his face to shreds. Oh, and almost slitting his throat. "...I'm sorry, guys."

Josh frowned, pulling his attention away from a snappy pair of cargo pants long enough to turn his attention to Kenny. "What? Why are _you_ sorry?"

"Cause I stabbed your brother. And tried to kill him. And got his blood all over the kitchen, which you had to mop up, cause I was catatonic."

"Sal stopped being our brother as soon as he did what he did to you," Peter responded, checking the price on a t-shirt. "I'm glad you made him admit it." 

"...what? Seriously?" 

"Yeah." Johnny nodded. "Truth is, we've always known Sal had a sadistic streak a mile wide, but we wrote it off because he limited it to the people we killed. They were gonna die anyway, y'know?" 

"Well, I don't think he thought I'd be a household staple." 

"That doesn't matter."

The three of them were kicking themselves, to be completely honest. They had always known Sal to be more on the fucked up side of things, but they'd looked past it because, despite his moods, he'd never brought it home before, though he'd crossed lines that even they hadn't with their victims. (Josh specifically remembered Sal slitting some girl's throat and then fucking the open wound, which had been too disturbing even for him.) In Sal's own words, maybe it was kind of absurd to claim a moral high ground among other serial killers, but the notable difference was that the three of them only targeted people who they felt deserved to die, for whatever reason that was. Peter had killed someone who had betrayed him very deeply; Johnny spent weeks stalking wife-beaters before he finally hunted them down; and Josh took people down who he just considered to make the world a worse place, the definition of which varied from "doesn't put the shopping cart back in the carousel" to "was seen kicking puppies and shaking babies."

Sal, though? Sal had no pattern; he was indiscriminate, which made his tracks easy to cover, but it also made him dangerous. He seemed to have no moral compass whatsoever, and at times, it was unclear whether he would remain loyal to the group. At times, they kept him around because he knew too much to be cut loose without risk. 

This was no longer one of those times. 

"So uh...what's he up to? Didn't see him this morning." Kenny was trying very hard to be casual about this, and failing miserably. Josh and Peter shared an uneasy glance, and Johnny made himself busy rifling through socks. "...what? What happened?"

"Well, uh." Josh ran a hand through his hair. "He's not gonna be staying with us for that much longer." 

Kenny winced. "Oh, fuck's sake, I fucked everything up, didn't I--"

"Don't do that." Peter flapped a hand. "Don't do that spiraling shit. No, you didn't. We all voted." 

"...so...he's moving out?" 

"You could certainly say that," Johnny commented, and Josh cut him a look.

Kenny narrowed his eyes, and both Peter and Josh jumped backward. "What was that? You're not telling me something."

"He's...spending the next couple days at the _body shop."_

He blinked. "The place Johnny works? Like with Bruce?"

Peter rolled his eyes. He was so fuckin' stupid it was ridiculous--

"No," Josh said, voice tempered with patience. "No. _Our_ 'body shop'."

A vacant look occupied Kenny's face for another moment, then he gasped. Johnny rushed over and shushed him, pressing a hand over his mouth as his eyes widened wildly. Because he'd just realized: Sal was in the _basement._

Slowly, Johnny moved his hand away from his mouth, and Kenny stared up at him. "...are you serious?" 

Josh nodded solemnly. "As a knife to the throat." 

He nodded slowly, trying to process that. Sal was where Kenny had just been--he was where he had been trying to make sure Kenny _stayed._ It was ironic, in kind of a cruel way. His own ego really had been his downfall. 

"So that's it then?"

"Yeah, it will be." Pete pulled a pack of boxers off the rack and raised an eyebrow. "What size are you, a small?"

"Medium. How long is he gonna be down there?"

"There's no way you're a medium."

"I was gonna be a small but my dick is so big it pushed me over." Josh snorted behind him, and Kenny cracked a smile. "Answer my question, you dick."

"He's down there until you get rid of him," Johnny helpfully supplied, causing Kenny's mouth to open in shock. "Welcome to the club."

"I--listen guys, I dunno if I can do that--"

"You've already shown us you can," Peter said, using two fingers to jab him in the chest. "Where's that fuckin' rage? The rage that made you wanna cut his tongue out and rip his face off?" 

"I got it out of my system, I guess." Kenny turned around and started to rifle unconvincingly through some shirts. 

"That's a fucking lie. You just scared yourself when you realized you were capable of that shit." 

"He deserves it, and you know it." Josh pointedly raised his eyebrows. "That's why you did it, isn't it?"

Kenny sighed. "Yeah. I did it cause it was a shitty thing for him to do and I was pissed off. That doesn't mean I was right, or that that's an appropriate way to deal with your problems." 

They all paused for a beat, quiet. It had been so long since any of them had questioned their motivations. It was strange to hear. 

"What if it is, though?" Peter finally murmured. "Wait--wait. Hear me out. Sal acted violently toward you, with the specific intention to make you suffer. He wanted to torture you. Doesn't that deserve retribution?"

"It does, and I got it."

"Did you really?" Peter took a step toward him and cocked his head. "I'm sure that moment lives inside your head every minute of the day. He occupies a place in your mind that you'll never be able to scrub clean, no matter how many showers you take or how many times you brush your teeth. Cause that's what you do, right? Because I'm sure you can still taste it." 

Kenny's fist clenched, and he glared over his shoulder at Pete. "Drop it."

"You can't scrub that moment out of your head, can you?"

"Pete, _fuckin' drop it--"_

Peter was right over his shoulder now, backing Kenny into the shelving. "But you can scrub him from this earth."

Face darkening, Kenny paused, seeming to mull over his options. Johnny and Josh were both frozen, wincing. This was kind of a risky strategy for Pete to employ. Intentionally triggering Kenny into lashing out would go one of two ways, and one of the ways would involve the police arriving and the four of them being asked never to return to this Target location. 

"Alright," he finally conceded. "But only him, you understand me? Cause he fuckin' deserves it."

That was all they needed. Any kind of an in was still an in, and he would be one of them soon enough. 

"That's the spirit. Here." Johnny passed him a box of Altoids. "So you can get the...taste outta your mouth."

"Oh. Thanks." Kenny shook a couple into his hand and popped them into his mouth. "Wait--did you leave him _alone?_ Pete stepped out of the house for one minute and I found a knife, what the fuck is he gonna be able to do--"

"Kenny, you realize you're a dramatic outlier, right?" Josh lifted an eyebrow. "Besides, I've got him nice and doped up on painkillers. He doesn't even know his own name, he'll be fine. But while we're out, you should think about how you wanna do this, y'know? This is your blank canvas. Get creative."

Again, Kenny found himself nauseated with dread, but also with anticipation. What Peter had said was true, as much as he wanted to deny it. The thought of finishing his handiwork and mutilating Sal's face was something he'd been halfway wishing he'd have the chance to finish. The goddamn gall he had, trying to break him down that way! All Kenny had wanted to do was make sure he never felt like that big a man ever again. He wanted him to look in the mirror and jump at the monster staring back at him. He wanted to make sure he never had a goddamn reason to be that arrogant for the rest of his life. 

But then, the flip-side: this was still a person. A total scumbag, yeah, but...a human being. He understood now the appeal of killing people, especially people like Sal, but he didn't know if he, personally, was capable of it. Humans were interesting creatures--living anomalies, in fact! The only fully bipedal members of their evolutionary family, with bizarrely proportioned heads to accommodate large brains that took more than two decades to finish developing, humans had become so detached from the rest of the animal kingdom that they hardly considered themselves to be a part of it anymore. And maybe, in a way, that was true. Humans were the only living things with the brain power to develop a sophisticated society, and cultures that were very in-tune with nature had been pushed into the margins in favor of land development. Humans would take down even other humans they viewed as being too cozy with other living things, evidently. 

And yet, humans are still animals. They developed the same way, the same evolutionary patterns can be traced all the way back through the fossil records of yore. Humans are pack animals and highly social beings, and are meant to stick together. Just because Kenny had been proven to be capable of the predator's instinct, to maim, to punish, to kill...did that mean he should also take down a member of his own pack? For petty revenge?

But he wasn't a member of the pack anymore, Kenny realized. The others had already made that call. He was in the basement, where the Others went. Sal was a victim now, someone who, in their eyes, had committed whatever egregious sin was worth condemning him to death. He was already out. It was just Kenny's job to put the nail in the coffin. 

Kenny mulled over his options all through the men's section, then into the footwear, and was finally seeing things clearly by the time they reached the snacks. He understood now that this was something he had to do. He had no choice, really: if he didn't do it, he was going to regret it. The others wanted him to, and _he_ wanted to; the only sticking point was the last remnants of his conscience shouting at him because the word "murder" stuck in his brain like a nasty splinter.

"I'll do it," he told the three of them as they all walked the shopping cart out of the store. "But I want to see him first." 

He was pathetic, to put it simply. After they'd made it home and sorted out the clothes bags from the food bags, they'd all ventured into the basement to poke at Sal who was, despite Kenny's fears, right where he had been left. He was curled up on his side, on the mattress stained with sweat and blood, wrists and ankles bound tightly with rope. He wasn't gagged because of the stitches, which still seemed red and irritated. Sal was curled up on his right side, so his stitches were up, and his mouth hung open in a doped-up stupor. 

Kenny stared down at him. Sal was pathetic, yes, but he didn't pity him. Instead, the urge to finish what he'd begun was stronger than ever. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. 

"Gimme a knife."

Josh lifted an eyebrow at him. "He's still doped up. You're gonna wanna wait."

"I know that. I'll come back down in a few hours. I'm gonna reopen his stitches. I want him to have something to wake up to." 

Johnny grinned and passed Kenny his knife. "Good idea. Sadistic. I like it." 

Peter rolled his eyes. What a kiss-ass. 

"The stitches have already started healing, so it might get a little messy," Josh warned him. 

"That's fine." Kenny crouched down in front of the mattress and pushed Sal's hair out of his eyes, poking his forehead until his glazed-over eyes fluttered open. "Hey. Motherfucker. Wake up." 

Sal's eyes slid gradually into focus, and he stared up at Kenny numbly. Oh, this was going to be so much more enjoyable when he was lucid. But the prologue would be enough to hold him over while he thought of a game plan. 

"Hold still. Not that you have much of a choice," he murmured, holding Sal's jaw steady and bringing the knife to the seam of his lips. He found the track from the previous wound and sliced, breaking through the recovering flesh and snapping through suture thread as he sawed Sal's face back open. The fresh wound reddened with blood slowly, and then the crimson fluid dribbled down his jaw and seeped into his shirt. It was almost anticlimactic. He didn't move, he didn't scream. He just laid there and bled. Kenny stood up and cocked his head down at Sal. "There."

"So what are you gonna wear to kill him?" 

"What?" Kenny turned around to stare at Johnny. "What am I gonna _wear?"_

"Yeah. We all have a murder 'fit. Old jeans, or something all black...y'know, that if you get blood on it it's not the end of the world." 

"Oh." He blinked. "I guess I'll just wear what I attacked Sal in. His blood's already all over it. Uh...any other pointers before I do this?" 

"Pull your hair back," Josh supplied helpfully. "You will definitely get body fluids in it."

"Or it'll stick to your face, which is just fuckin' annoying."

"Oh, and stay barefoot. There's really nothing worse than bloody socks."

"The temptation to wear boots is real, but blood will stay in the grooves. Go barefoot."

"Alright." Johnny grinned and patted his shoulder. "C'mon, let's get you all set up." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I turned into a mega-nerd around 1.7k this chapter. I'm chalking it up to Kenny being a big reader, which is true! But I also do brain stuff for my job and this concept fascinates me ^_^


	10. The Gift of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retribution 2: Electric Boogaloo  
> OR  
> Retribution: the Next and Last  
> OR  
> Final Retribution: A Very Stacked Knife Fight
> 
> (Also, we hit a chapter with double digits! Woohoo! 🤠)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 (!!!) Playlist:  
> Revenga - System of a Down  
> Twist of Cain - Danzig  
> Savages - Ice Nine Kills  
> Am I Demon - Danzig  
> Kill You Tonight (Reprise) - Type O Negative

Kenny tied his hair back neatly the same way he had for his mother's funeral: a small, tight bun, sitting at the base of his skull. Again, he was dressed in mourning black, but this time there was no respect to be paid. He was not mourning. He was the judge, jury, and executioner. He was digging the grave himself. 

"You ready?" 

Johnny's voice drew Kenny's attention, and he realized he'd been staring off into space. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I'm in my own head."

"Don't apologize. I get it." He grinned, giving Kenny's outfit a once-over. "I like the cuffs." 

He had rolled his jeans up to his knees so as not to have them completely destroyed by bodily fluids. Not that Kenny was about to start killing naked, but the more he could shower off, the better. "Oh, thanks." 

"I got you something." 

Kenny raised his eyebrows. "What?" 

Johnny grinned and folded his hands behind his back. "Close your eyes." 

This seemed a little juvenile for a pre-kill ritual, but it was hard to be legitimately annoyed at Johnny. Especially when he smiled like that. So, Kenny indulged him, shutting his eyes and holding out both hands expectantly. 

Whatever Johnny had placed in his hands was a good weight. His right hand cradled something long, cold and metallic, while his left held something vaguely grippy and rounded. He curled his fingers around the gift and opened his eyes. It was a knife, one just like Johnny's in all but age and color. The handle was sleek and black, and near the bottom base was a neatly etched 'K'. As opposed to silver, the blade of this knife was a dusky charcoal color, and the edge was finished and glittering. It even had the teeth on the one side for sawing, and the curved point for detail work. It was breathtaking, actually, and completely, utterly perfect. 

"Whoa," he breathed, picking the knife up by the handle and turning it over, studying it with quiet awe. "It's...beautiful. When did you get this?" 

"As soon as you showed up, actually," Johnny admitted shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. It sounded a little silly now, saying it out loud. "I thought you'd be staying, so...I wanted to get you one of your own, you know? I know you said you wanted to try your hand with the axe, but--"

"That was just an excuse," Kenny replied, testing the weight of the knife in his hand. "Don't worry. I love it." 

"Oh, good! I'm so glad." Johnny smiled brightly at him. "You just...I know you never really did anything like that before, but it just looked so natural. Like an extension of your arm."

It was so sharp, so lethal. The prospect of covering this knife in Sal's blood was so, so tempting. But...

"Can I ask you a really stupid question?" Kenny finally asked, still twisting the knife in his hand and making little slashing motions. "Of course I fuckin' love this knife, you can see that, I can't wait to use it, but...can I just...borrow yours? One more time? I feel like I gotta finish this the way I started it." 

He thought for a moment that Johnny might be upset, and think that he didn't like his gift after all, but all he got in response was that understanding, warm smile. "Yeah, of course. I get it. You're a little superstitious, huh?" 

"I guess." A little regretfully, Kenny handed his brand new knife back to Johnny and watched as he slid it into the belt loop against his hip. He knew he'd get it back soon, but it was like having to put away your toys on Christmas. From the opposite belt loop, he produced his own weapon, the one Kenny was now so intimately familiar with. It was hard to feel confident when every aspect of the process was novel, but at least there was one constant: his knife of choice. 

"You ready to go down?" Josh appeared in the kitchen doorway, raising his eyebrows expectantly at the pair of them. "If you put it off you'll never do it. Pete's already down there, he went when Sal started moaning."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ready." Kenny nodded firmly, rocked up on the balls of his feet, then reached for the basement door. 

As soon as he heard footfalls on the stairs, Sal started to struggle and protest. Though he tried hard not to show it, this whole situation was beginning to make him nervous. He knew they wouldn't kill him though. There was no way. They'd all gone to school together; the five of them had been friends for years. They were just trying to teach him a lesson. Well, message received! He would scale it back, he would do whatever. It was a lot of effort to go to to get their message across, but that was just to make it realistic. They were just playing with him. They were just as sick as he was, after all. 

Kenny descended into view, flanked by Johnny and Josh, and Sal audibly snorted. A little heavy-handed with the revenge narrative, wasn't it? That was how he knew it was a joke. The little fucker had motive, sure, but no experience. And no fuckin' stomach. 

"What's funny?" Peter asked. 

"I get it." He writhed against the restraints. "I get it, I get it. I've learned my lesson. You cut my face to shreds, you reopened the stitches, you made sure it'll scar. You can let me go now." 

Righteous, seething anger built up in Kenny's stomach until the feeling was unbearable. He thought he might go completely berserk for a second, and then, as soon as it had built up, the feeling settled. A feeling of deep balance washed over him, like drinking whole milk after eating curry. He was calm--no, better yet? He was at _peace._

Kenny nodded. "Alright. You got me. Pete, cut him loose."

Johnny and Peter both stared at him as if he'd lost his goddamn mind. "...what?" 

"You can untie him," Kenny repeated. "No use holding up the facade any longer."

Peter blinked. "...are you _sure?"_

"Yeah. Let him go."

Still staring at Kenny as if he'd grown a second head, Peter bent down and took a knife to Sal's bindings. He cut his arms free, and then his legs, and watched in muted shock as Sal got up off the mattress and began to walk away. He made it all the way to the stairs, and paused to stare at Kenny, who didn't look nearly as forlorn and defeated by his failure as Sal had anticipated. He didn't look _anything,_ really. His face maintained a completely neutral expression. It was a little odd, to be truthful. 

"Good try," Sal said, lips twitching with the beginning of a cocky smirk. "We'll call it even."

Kenny nodded good-naturedly, as if he'd just gracefully lost a game of ping pong. "We sure will." 

Pleased with himself and his victory, Sal turned on his heel and started up the stairs, failing for just a moment to consider that he shouldn't have been quite so eager to turn his back on them. 

Kenny silently pulled the knife out, waiting until Sal's feet were at about the level of his chest. He gripped the handle and drew the blade across his body, preparing his backhand, and when the timing was perfect, he slashed. 

All the air rushed out of Sal's lungs as his Achilles tendon snapped. The tension caused his calf to recoil and contract violently, and he staggered forward and collapsed on his hands and knees halfway up the stairs. Beads of sweat erupted on his forehead as he heard Kenny climbing the stairs behind him, knife still in hand. 

A hand wrapped around Sal's other ankle, and a scream got stuck in his newly dry throat. 

"We _are_ gonna call it even, Sal. But not just yet."

Johnny's blade sliced cleanly through Sal's other Achilles tendon and he screamed, oblivious to how much it hurt to open his mouth that wide. Blood exploded from both ankles and slicked the steps, but Kenny didn't pay it any mind. Instead, he stepped up to where Sal laid, shaking and on his stomach. He leveled one foot with Sal's shoulder and gave him a good push, sending him and his now-useless legs tumbling down the stairs. 

Kenny took a moment to survey the damage he'd done, and he was honestly very pleased with himself. Sal laid at the bottom of the stairs, ankles gushing blood, limbs akimbo. And when he took a step down, Sal gasped and struggled to crawl away on his arms. Was this the feeling he was always drunk on? This feeling of _superiority?_

Josh peeked over at Johnny as Kenny began to descend the rest of the stairs, and he looked utterly moonstruck. That had been surprisingly brutal. He'd caught all of them off guard with that display, but Johnny seemed especially impressed by his bloodthirstiness. He wasn't holding anything back anymore. 

Kenny made it to the landing and bent down to grab Sal by the hair, a move he was happy to use against him. That was Sal's signature move, wasn't it? The fucking hair. He dragged him as he walked, forcing Sal to struggle to crawl on his hands and knees. Humiliation was his thing? He liked to break people down so he could be an arrogant son of a bitch and feel like he was above everyone? Alright then. Kenny could play that game too. But he played for keeps. 

_"Crawl, bitch!"_

Sal bit down a sound akin to a whimper, and Johnny actually blushed. 

"Not so much fun now, huh?" Kenny planted his foot straight into Sal's neck, kicking him so hard that he rolled flat on his back. "See, I don't want you tied up." He stood over Sal, then dropped onto his chest, pinning his arms down, one with each leg. Fucker deserved to learn a lesson before he bit it. And even though Sal was bigger than him, he wasn't exactly on his game. "I want you to be unrestrained, but have to live with the knowledge that you can't get anywhere fast."

Sal stared up at him, eyes wide. He glanced back and forth, searching for an out, or a weakness, but finding nothing. Kenny had him. Check fucking mate. 

"Now." A truly sick smile spread across Kenny's face, and he lifted the knife so it was within Sal's line of sight. "Open your mouth."

Instead of obeying, Sal started to thrash underneath Kenny, who pinned his cheek against the ground so he could open the other side of his face. He leaned all his weight on the one hand to immobilize his head, and then brought the knife down harshly. The mighty stab punctured Sal's flesh easily, and as before, he sawed through his cheek until he'd cut straight through the seam of his lips. 

"Fuck you," Sal spat, coughing on the blood that was running into his mouth and down his neck. "Fuck you, you ugly little bitch--"

"Cry me a river." He lifted the knife once again, but paused and cocked his head to one side. "I was gonna cut your tongue out, like I planned, you know? But I don't think I want to anymore. I wanna make sure you can articulate when I make you beg for your life."

"You talk a big fuckin' game, don't you?" Sal snarled through gritted teeth. "You talk a whole fuckin' lot--" 

"What are you gonna do about it?" The pressure on Sal's shoulders increased as Kenny leaned all the way forward to stare Sal in the eye. "Walk away?" They stared at one another for a very long moment, and then Kenny smirked. "I thought so." 

"So you're gonna make sure I can't walk, flay me alive and leave me here to bleed? Is that it?" 

"Don't be so fuckin' dramatic." Kenny popped up and off him, twirling the knife between his fingers and beginning to pace casually. "I'm not anywhere near done with you yet."

Pete was standing toward the back of the room, arms folded as he leaned against the wall. His face was hard to read, but he didn't look displeased. Johnny and Josh still stood by the stairs. Josh was grinning, but Johnny's eyes were still a little bit wide. Kenny hoped he hadn't scared him again. He wanted to walk a little and get the juices flowing, get some new ideas. The rage was a good stop gap, but when he wasn't hacking away, he liked to plan. The best way to torture Sal, obviously, would be to mutilate him. Physical pain was one thing, but blows to his ego were another altogether. Kenny was trying to strike a creative balance between the two. 

Sal slowly sat up, forcing himself to through the searing pain in the back of each ankle, and pressed a hand to either cheek. He wasn't going anywhere, and although Peter pushed himself off the wall in preparation, Kenny was perfectly comfortable turning his back on Sal in order to think. There wasn't any way for him to get off the ground; neither leg had any torque to draw on from those tendons. Even if he did manage to stand up, it would take a long time, and it would not be pleasant. 

"Any suggestions?" 

Sal barked out a laugh, staring contemptuously up at Kenny. "You're trying to _phone a friend?"_

Josh shrugged. "Do whatever feels right, man. I don't know."

Johnny flashed him a thumbs-up. "Don't worry, we get stuck too. Just relax!" 

Options were weighed briefly, and then Kenny shrugged one shoulder. It wasn't like he had anything to lose here, right? He died either way. "Alright. Get back down then."

Sal stared incredulously at him. "What?"

"Go on. On your fuckin' back." 

"You're joking." 

Kenny lifted one foot and planted his heel directly in Sal's mouth, the force of the kick splitting his lip and splattering his blood on the floor. As commanded, Sal hit the ground, cupping his face and groaning as warm, sticky blood poured from in between his fingers. Kenny dropped down right beside him as he moaned, and grabbed a fistful of Sal's shirt. The saw-tooth edge of the knife made quick work of the flimsy fabric. He pushed it aside to reveal Sal's bare torso, which was covered in a generous layer of thick hair. He looked like a sentient Brillo pad. 

"What are you doing?" 

Kenny dug the knife into the flesh at the base of Sal's neck and slowly dragged it down his stomach, all the way to where his pelvis began. It was deep enough not to damage any organs, but he would still be able to dig his fingers in there and open him up. It was only after Kenny had made two perpendicular seams on the top and bottom, creating a great big capital-i shape, that Sal began to process that they were actually going to _kill him._ They were serious. Kenny had slashed both his Achilles tendons so he couldn't run away, he'd cut his face open for fucking _fun,_ and now he was going to...what was his goal here, exactly?

"I wanna see how many of your organs I can take out before you croak," he answered conversationally, then quickly slapped a bloody hand over Sal's mouth before he was able to get a scream out. "You scream and I fuckin' castrate you. Be quiet. I'll put your balls in a fuckin' jar, don't fuck with me."

Kenny wasn't _that_ cruel, though, and gave him the customary ball of socks to bite down on. As he put the knife down and dug his fingers into Sal's skin to pry it open, he screamed through the gag and arched up. Rivulets of blood trickled down his sides, and his body trembled with what could only be the beginning of shock. The rib cage and sternum would make getting to the good stuff a little dicey, and there wasn't exactly a bone saw in sight. 

So, he did the next best thing. 

The wail that tore out of Sal's throat when Kenny began to saw through the connective cartilage that linked the ribs to the breastbone was spine-chilling. It was unlike Sal to show any type of vulnerability, but he was here, laid bare in the most literal sense of the term. He struggled to reach out and finally grabbed Kenny by the shirt, trying to pull him closer as he pulled his gag out with his other hand. "D-don't do this, don't do this--please don't--"

"Don't touch me." 

Sal drew his hand back immediately, like a scolded child. Kenny was not the one to piss off; he knew that now. And as bad as this was, Kenny had the power to make it a lot worse if Sal got on his bad side. He could keep him alive for _days,_ to waste away and despair, or to succumb to infections or even maggots. It had all been done. He'd done all of it himself, actually; he knew all the ways one could possibly make someone's life hell. So, he did his best to relax. He stopped moving (not that he could lean forward anymore, with his abdominal wall in shreds), returned the gag to his mouth, and tried to fight through the pain. 

Once all the rib-binding cartilage had been sawed through, Kenny put one hand on Sal's sternum and grabbed one of his ribs with the other. And, with all the strength he could manage, he pulled. It seemed like it wouldn't give for a moment, but then--a swift _crack._ Sal moaned, eyes rolling dumbly in his skull as the pain caused a kaleidoscope of spots to dance in his vision. He felt lightheaded and sick.

Kenny stared down at Sal's newly exposed organs and cocked his head. There was so much incredible potential here. The only problem now would be to make a decision.

As Sal's lungs expanded with rattling breaths, Kenny suddenly had an inspired idea, one that completely cleared his mental block. He sat up on his knees and reached both hands into Sal's chest, worming them underneath his ribs so that he could grab one lung with each hand. As he squeezed, air rushed out of Sal's mouth. He struggled to inhale, and Kenny felt the organs trying to expand, but his grip on them remained steady. Sal began to squirm, then writhe, then grab Kenny's arms, and just as his eyes rolled back in his head from the lack of oxygen, Kenny released him. Sal gasped, his pink lungs filling the cavity of his chest as he fought for air. 

"You're fuckin' sick," he wheezed through the socks. 

"I'm just curious about the human body, Sal," Kenny offered innocently. "Now let's poke at some stuff and see what oozes, yeah? This is gonna be fun."

Kenny picked the knife back up, and Sal shrieked as the sharpened blade punctured his liver. Bile and blood seeped from the laceration, burning indiscriminately. Sweat bloomed on Sal's face and neck as he fought to stay conscious. Shock would set in fully soon, and with a damaged liver? He would succumb to his injuries much sooner. The liver bled, and it bled a lot. Without getting it under control, he wasn't long for this world at all. He didn't know which was scarier: the thought of being kept alive only to suffer, or the realization that death was so close a specter. 

Reaching into Sal's chest again, Kenny grabbed one writhing lung and slashed it open. Sal screamed and thrashed weakly, blubbering through his gag with a broken voice. Blood filled his deflated lung, and Sal's ragged breathing became wet as fluid penetrated his airways. A tear streaked down his gray cheek, and blood foamed from between his lips. 

"Time to close the curtain here," Kenny murmured, twirling the knife idly. 

"Wait! Wait." Johnny rushed over and knelt down beside Kenny. "Wait. Can I make a suggestion?"

Kenny glanced over at him, glazed-over eyes searching Johnny's face for a moment. "What?" 

Johnny wrapped his hand around Kenny's, the one that was holding the knife, and distinctly felt his fist clench. "Can I have this?" 

A somewhat betrayed look flickered across Kenny's features and he frowned, pulling back a little. "No."

"Listen, listen. I have an idea." 

Peter raised his eyebrows. Johnny had to understand how risky it was to grab Kenny like that, mid-kill, when he looked visibly out of it (he was still definitely in The Zone), and to grab the very hand that was doing the killing was kind of insane. But despite looking a little put-out, Kenny didn't appear to be redirecting any of his rage at Johnny. In spite of himself, Pete wondered if he or Josh would have been able to get away with something like that. 

Johnny drew Kenny's new knife out of his belt loop and offered it to him, nodding earnestly. "You should deal the killing blow with your own weapon."

Kenny stared at him for a long time while Sal fought with everything he had to keep breathing in the background. Time was of the essence here, and yet, it seemed to be a decision that required a lot of thought. Kenny didn't even seem concerned with Sal anymore. 

Slowly, he nodded, and handed Johnny his knife, accepting his own in exchange. It was so clean, so untouched in contrast. Kenny was covered in Sal's blood, from his hands and forearms to the splatters that spotted his face, but the blade, excited and new, glittered in the low light as if hungry for bloodshed. 

"What are your thoughts?" Kenny turned to Sal, turning the knife over in his hands. "You wanna try to tough it out?"

"Kill....me," Sal wheezed, blood bubbling up in his throat with the effort.

"Sorry? I didn't catch that." He perched over Sal and patted his wounded cheek. "Speak up." 

_"Kill me!"_

A smirk settled across Kenny's features, and he lifted the knife again. "See, now didn't I tell you your tongue would come in handy?" 

Twisting a hand in Sal's hair, he forced him into something resembling a sitting position and knelt behind him. The actual kill would be quick, but Kenny made sure that Sal was lucid long enough to watch his innards, now unbound by flesh or gravity, begin to crawl out of his abdominal cavity and slide to the ground. His eyes were wide as his intestines squirmed all over each other like worms, lubricated by a thick coating of his blood. 

Kenny leveled the blade of the knife with Sal's jugular, and in one slick motion, slashed his throat open from ear to ear. A sound left his throat, a low moan like a creaking floorboard, and then all at once, blood began to pour out of the wound. He managed a few more determined gasps, but it wasn't long at all before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped backward against Kenny. Sal was dead, and his place had been filled.

Josh surveyed the damage from his little corner. The entire floor was covered with blood, and so was Kenny, from the looks of it. He still held the knife aloft, ready to use it again, but blinked slowly as he began to come out of his rage-induced stupor. For a rookie, he'd done a fuckload of damage. Johnny had been right after all, it seemed. 

Johnny actually hadn't really known what to expect from all this, except that Kenny was supposed to kill Sal. Honestly, any expectation he could have had was exceeded tenfold. Kenny had owned the killer in him, and used his anger as a weapon. And now he was covered in blood, panting, and staring down at the man he'd mutilated. The man who had been his best friend in high school, but who had also set out to torture him. "How do you feel?" 

Kenny slowly turned to look at him, which made him weirdly nervous in a sort of exciting way. "Uh...I don't know."

"That's fair." Johnny nodded and slowly stepped toward him again. "You wanna take a shower?" 

He nodded. "Yeah." 

"Okay. C'mon, let's go upstairs." Johnny gingerly wrapped an arm around Kenny to lead him toward the stairs, but stopped when Kenny dug his heels in. "What's wrong?"

"I'm gonna track." They both glanced down at the trail of bloody footprints Kenny had left. "I'll get it everywhere."

"Oh, we have a remedy for that," Pete assured him. "I'll get the power hose."

Kenny stood against the back wall and Peter sprayed him with their garden hose, which was outfitted with a power-washer-like attachment. When it seemed like he was reasonably clean, he was free to go up and shower as the boys began the cleanup. 

"He really flayed that bastard, huh?" Pete said conversationally, pouring a generous amount of bleach on the floor and beginning to sweep it around. "I was actually kind of impressed. For a first pass, he really channeled Hannibal Lecter there."

"Yeah." 

He squinted for a moment, scrutinizing Johnny. "You alright? You've been quiet." 

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine." Johnny fiddled with the cover of the acid drum as Josh worked on dismemberment. "Just thinking." 

"Thinking about what?"

Reddening around the ears slightly, he returned his attention to the barrel. "I'm excited to see more of what he can do." 

Josh nodded a little, even though he knew that love-struck motherfucker was lying. "Yeah, I think we all are."


	11. Shocked, Appalled, and Other Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a kill is almost more unpleasant than the kill itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 Playlist:  
> Work Song - Hozier  
> If I'm Crazy - Amigo the Devil  
> Somebody Someone - Korn  
> This Love - Pantera  
> To the End - My Chemical Romance

It wasn't the weekend, but Pete still churned out a big bowl of cheesy eggs: partially in celebration, and partially because Kenny still looked vaguely but noticeably haunted by the atrocities he'd committed.

"How ya doin', buddy?" Josh asked, using the careful voice one might reserve for a child whose parents were going through a messy divorce. Or someone who was a few bad days from a complete breakdown. 

Kenny stared up at him, making the bags under his eyes more noticeable, and stabbed at his eggs. "Fine," he replied, convincing nobody. Josh noticed that the fingers holding the fork were twitching. A nervous tic? Kenny followed his line of sight, then set his fork down. "Alright. I didn't sleep well."

"Which is totally normal," Johnny cut in, squeezing Kenny's shoulder supportively. "That's nothing to be ashamed of. When I helped Peter get rid of Connie's body I didn't sleep through the night for two weeks." Just because they were veterans at this point, didn't mean that they should forget how they felt when they were first starting out. Pete had always talked a big game, but he was paranoid under good circumstances. Josh had spent most of his waking hours doing a cost-benefit analysis. How many water-logged beach corpses in New York were typically avenged with conviction? Not enough, evidently. Peter had been questioned briefly, because the boyfriend was always suspect #1, but nothing ever came of it. He never breathed a word that she had cheated on him. Her death was ruled an accident, and Pete walked. 

"They're gonna notice he's missing. At the butcher shop. He's not gonna show up for work," Kenny groaned, rubbing his temples. "Fuck, they're gonna be looking for him. We're gonna get caught."

"Sal was always erratic in the best of times," Johnny reminded him gently. "This isn't the first time he's disappeared." 

"It's the last time, though," Pete snorted, and Johnny cut him a severe look. 

"This time he just didn't make it home." Josh raised his eyebrows. "He's got a history of mental illness, remember?"

"So do all of us." 

Josh held up a pill bottle that was almost totally full, and rattled the capsules inside. "Yeah, but Sal hasn't been regulating his for weeks. What happens when someone with severe, unchecked bipolar depression wanders out of the house in a rage late at night?"

Kenny's stomach turned with guilt. That felt like a pot shot, to use his struggles with mental illness against him. 

"I know it's maybe not a stand-up thing to do. But he wasn't exactly a stand-up guy no matter how you cut it, and you have to shift the blame off yourself. Do whatever it takes." 

He nodded slowly and stabbed at his eggs again, wondering in spite of himself if there would ever be a time in this house that he wasn't filled with some semblance of deep dread and despair. God damn, he just wanted to fuckin' relax! 

"Eat your eggs," Johnny nudged, gently placing a hand on his back. "Starving yourself won't help anything." 

"Listen to your wife," Peter snapped. "I slaved over those eggs." 

Kenny and Johnny both blushed a little. "What?" 

"I said I didn't slave over a hot stove for you not to eat my goddamn eggs--"

"Did you just call Johnny my _wife?"_ Kenny asked incredulously, a little louder than he intended. "What the fuck does that mean?" 

Peter glanced between the two of them. Touchy, huh? "You can't mean to tell me _you're_ the wife here." 

He visibly bristled. "No! That's not what--" 

"Yeah, I figured. I mean, he's the taller one, but he's a little...well." Pete held up one hand with a limp wrist. "You know." 

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "I'm a little _what_ , Pete?" 

Josh concealed a smirk behind his coffee mug as he lifted it to take a sip. "You guys know you can sleep in different rooms now, right? Kenny, Sal's room is up for grabs, so..."

"....oh." Johnny paused, frowning a little, his anger at Pete forgotten. "I guess that's true." 

Suddenly, everyone was looking at him, and Kenny raised his eyebrows. "What?" He hastily stuffed some eggs in his mouth. 

"I mean, you're free to change rooms if you _want_ to," Johnny rushed to assure him. "I don't want you to think you have to stay with me--" 

"I don't think I have to!" Kenny stumbled over himself through his mouthful, nearly spraying eggs everywhere. "I don't know. I don't mind." 

"You'd have a lot more room," Josh pointed out. "I'm sure Johnny wants to stretch out, right?" 

"Oh, uh..." He reddened slightly, pushing his fingers through his hair and looking down. Josh grinned: he was getting nervous now. "I have a big bed though, it's not like it's been a problem. We can both fit comfortably--" 

" _Comfortably_ , huh?" Peter smirked, and Josh snickered. "How comfortably?" 

"I've been staying with you since my accident," Kenny pointed out softly, finally meeting Johnny's eye. 

"So you want to get out then, right?" 

"...no. I'm used to it. It feels...comfortable." They stared at one another for a moment, before Kenny tore his eyes away and took a sip of his own coffee. 

_"How comfortable is it?"_ Josh and Peter chirped in mocking unison, but it didn't hit the same way this time. Kenny and Johnny's gazes found each other again, like magnets clicking into place. The truth was, it felt like home. It would be weird for Kenny to leave now. 

"So...you're not gonna take Sal's room after all?" Johnny cocked his head. 

"No, I don't think so. If you don't mind me staying, anyway."

"Of course not. I like having you around, you know."

Making fun of them suddenly wasn't so entertaining anymore, and Peter huffed and leaned back in his chair. "Just try to keep your mind off it. Nothing's gonna happen. It's honestly open and shut. His vanishing probably won't even surprise anybody."

"Yeah. But since we live with him, it wouldn't be unusual for people to ask questions. So, just as a precaution, we should all get our stories straight." Josh rested his chin on his fist and zeroed in on Kenny. "So. What happened to Sal?" 

Thickly, he forced down his half-chewed bite. "Uh...I dunno. He never came home one night, I guess." 

"No. No." Josh narrowed his eyes and pulled Kenny's plate away. "You look fuckin' guilty."

"I _am_ fuckin' guilty, Josh!" Kenny hissed. "I killed the fuckin' dude and you want me to just lie--"

"Yeah. If you expect to stay here, I expect you to fuckin' lie." Josh's voice carried no perceivable warmth this time, his ice-blue eyes staring ruthlessly into Kenny's. "Are you clear on what your expectations are?"

He swallowed again. That was true. It sounded stupid in hindsight, of course, but if he was going to make a habit of this, lying through his teeth would sort of come with the territory. "Yeah. You're right. Sorry."

"Try it again." Josh cleared his throat. "Kenny, what happened to Sal?" 

Kenny squared his shoulders and, this time, looked Josh in the eye. His brow furrowed, as if he were distressed. "Man, I don't know. He got pissed off and just walked out one night, and he just never came home."

"Oh yeah?" Josh cocked his head. "When did he leave?"

Kenny stalled, squinted, then groaned. "Fuck. Nobody's gonna ask that!" 

"You'd be surprised. They're innocent questions, but they can arouse suspicion in anybody. When did he disappear?" 

"Uh....yesterday night. Tuesday." 

"What was the fight about?" 

"Josh, take it easy! Don't pressure him," Johnny scolded. 

"Coddling him isn't gonna do anybody any good," Peter snapped. "I'm sorry he's shaken up. But he needs to get the fuck over it and get his story straight so he isn't caught off guard."

"No no no, he's right. I gotta get my shit together." Kenny shook his head and pushed his hair out of his face. "But fuck's sake, can we at least get our stories straight _together_ , figure out what we wanna say, and then I can practice it? Putting me on the spot if I don't even know what I'm supposed to be saying..."

"Alright. Alright. That's not a bad idea."

"So, he left Tuesday night. We haven't seen him since. Who was he arguing with?" 

"You," Josh and Pete both answered. 

"What? Why does it have to be me?" 

"Well, everything was fine until you showed up," Peter pointed out. "After you started staying here, things just went to hell." 

"You kept me tied up in the fuckin' basement!" 

_"And everything went to hell,"_ Pete repeated slowly. "Jesus, are you even keeping up?"

"It has to be you," Josh cut in, "because you and Sal haven't gotten along from the start. He uh, didn't like the change, couldn't cope with the new addition, whatever. But it works. Okay. What was the fight about?" 

"He attacked me--"

"No!" all three of them exclaimed suddenly, causing Kenny to jump backward in his chair.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa--what?"

"You never tell them he attacked you," Peter said quietly. "Never. That gives you motive. I don't care how much the fucker deserved it, you never implicate yourself like that."

Kenny nodded slowly, processing that advice. It seemed obvious in hindsight. "Yeah. Okay." 

"So..."

"He didn't like that I was in the house on short notice, or...with such little warning, I guess, and started pickin' fights over petty shit."

"How would you describe his behavior?" 

"Erratic. Uh, serious mood swings. Unbalanced?"

Josh nodded. "That works. Now, Sal has gone missing like this before, but never for this long, okay? If anybody asks you, make sure to mention that. This is not strange behavior for him, these tantrums have happened in the past. But this one is different, right? There's no fuckin' sign of the guy. He hasn't been back for days." 

He paused briefly, allowing Kenny to nod down at the table in order to indicate that he was processing this information. He still looked disturbed, but seemed to be taking the process in. That wasn't a bad sign. 

"Now, Kenny, listen very carefully. Tomorrow, we are going to call the police."

Kenny lifted his head to stare incredulously at Josh. "I'm sorry, are you out of your _goddamn fuckin' mind?!"_

Rushing to reassure him, Johnny leaned in and squeezed his shoulder gently. "No no no, it's okay. I know it sounds crazy, but it's strategic, okay? It's what we did with Connie too. Have you ever watched 48 Hours Mystery, or anything like that?" 

"Uh...no, not really."

"Okay, well we watch it a lot. It's a perfect what-not-to-do guide, okay? Everyone is always suspicious of the guy who doesn't call the cops or sound worried when his friend goes missing. So we gotta call the cops, right? Cause we're worried about him. Sal's been missing for a long time." Johnny nodded slowly, waiting for Kenny to nod as well. "The cops will come ask us some questions, but we've got nothing to worry about, because we didn't do anything." 

"I gotta lie to the cops?" Kenny asked quietly.

"They're bad at their jobs anyway. Get good enough at lying and you'll throw them right off."

"What about the drum of acid that Sal is currently decomposing in?"

"Dilute and dispose," Johnny chirped faithfully. "We'll dump him in the ocean, get rid of the drum at a landfill or something, no worries. C'mon, don't worry so much. We've done this a hundred times. Try and relax."

"I just didn't really...plan on killing him, you know? This is a lot to process."

Josh nodded as sympathetically as he could manage, then stood up. "Alright. Memorize your story. Ask me if you have questions. I'll be upstairs."

"And I'll be out back," Peter added. "You're starting to bum me out too."

After the two of them had gone their separate ways, Kenny dropped his face into his open hands and groaned. "Fuckin' Jesus." 

Johnny scooted his chair closer and gingerly wrapped one arm around Kenny's shoulders, pulling him against his chest. Pete and Josh had their hearts in the right place, of course, but their empathy was incredibly limited. Johnny had more of a wellspring to draw from when it came to stuff like that. And he understood what Kenny was going through. Maybe when you had less empathy, it was easier for you to roll with stuff like this, but that wasn't something Johnny could speak to. 

"You can talk to me if you want, you know," he murmured, gently scratching Kenny's scalp, and grinning when he shivered a little. "I get it."

"Yeah, but you're a vet by now. You know all the drills and shit. I'm just the new dude who's freaked the fuck out over nothing."

"I wouldn't say it's nothing," Johnny said, peeking down at him. Kenny looked up at him, brown eyes wide and concerned. "And you'll learn. All of us were new at this at some point. But we were all new at it together. We learned from our mistakes, and now we can tell you all the right moves to make."

"...yeah," Kenny agreed softly. "I guess that's true."

"Pete and Josh don't really know how to deal with other people's feelings. They don't mean anything by it. It just isn't in their wheelhouse." 

"Ah, I know. Can't fault 'em for that, I guess. I'm just not too excited to be talking to cops about this. I'm still not particularly proud of it."

"It'll come easier than you think. You didn't actually do anything wrong." Kenny stared up at him incredulously, and Johnny smiled a little. "Well, you know what I mean. The bastard deserved it. So you shouldn't go to jail over it, you know?" 

Kenny pulled away from Johnny slightly, just so that he could rest his chin on his fist, and sighed quietly. "Yeah. Yeah. I just gotta relax." 

"Try not to worry. Just focus on relaxing until we call it in tomorrow, and I promise everything will be okay." 

Lithe fingers curled comfortingly around Kenny's shoulder, and he looked up, and suddenly the two of them were close, very close, having gotten there almost without realizing it. Neither of them pulled away, instead just watching one another, each studying the other's facial features. Kenny suddenly realized that Johnny was far prettier up close and that, for all the time they'd shared a bed up to this point, he had avoided looking at him too closely. Otherwise, it would have been far too easy to take notice of the flecks of gold in his eyes, and the way his eyelashes caught the kitchen's provincial fluorescent light, turning it into something far more stunning than it was. 

Johnny exhaled through his nose and very nearly drew back, but resisted the initial impulse. Kenny's face was hard to read; thick eyebrows gave the impression of a more serious demeanor than he necessarily had, and that was in the best of circumstances. He hadn't pulled away either, though, which couldn't possibly have been a bad sign, right? Why did they spook so easily, anyway? Was there really anything wrong with just enjoying one another's company at a perhaps-intimate proximity? 

A muscle in Kenny's jaw jumped as he struggled to calculate the next logical step in this tense little dance of theirs. A breath paused in Johnny's throat as Kenny lifted his chin slightly, and their noses bumped, drawing a breathless and flustered laugh. It was almost childish, almost innocent, like crush-stricken teenagers at prom. Steeling his nerves, Kenny tilted his head slowly and leaned in, and Johnny met him in the middle, eyes finally fluttering shut, and just as the edges of their lips touched...

_**BANG!** _

Peter flung the back door open so hard that the frame rattled, and Kenny was so surprised that he jumped backwards and pitched straight off the side of the kitchen chair, hitting the ground with an upsetting _thud._

He stared at the two of them--Kenny on the ground, and Johnny still halfway leaned in and now blushing straight to the roots of his hair--and all he could think to say was "Am I interrupting something?" 

Currently at a loss for words, Johnny peered helplessly down at Kenny. 

"No. You're not," he finally answered, pulling himself back up on the chair. This time, the two of them were at far too reasonable a distance. It was unpleasant. 

"Yeah," Johnny added helpfully. "You're not." 

Pete regarded the pair suspiciously for another moment, but didn't care enough to press them. "I left my trowel in here."

"By all fuckin' means." Kenny waved a hand. 

The tension in the room had dissipated in an awfully anticlimactic way, and Johnny found himself floundering silently at the kitchen table as Kenny made himself busy clearing and rinsing the dishes. He waited, although he wasn't exactly sure what for. They had missed their chance, but he still hung on to the hope that perhaps their moment could be salvaged somehow. 

No such luck. After Kenny had run through all the ways in which he could possibly make himself busy, he announced that he was going to go upstairs and take a shower.

Johnny sighed and watched his back out of the corner of his eye until it turned the corner and disappeared from his line of sight. Once Kenny had ascended the stairs, he turned his attention back to Pete (now with trowel), who had returned to the kitchenette to stare at him some more. "What the fuck do you want?" 

"You two have the weirdest fucking relationship." He shook his head and let himself out the back door again, attention returning to his precious roses.

In spite of himself, and although he was now alone on the first floor, Johnny rested his chin in his palm and murmured "Fucking tell me about it."


	12. Flashing Back: An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny reminisces about when he and the rest of the boys were in high school. (Aka, I am going to shoehorn one chapter of a high school AU into a murderous slow burn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 Playlist:  
> The Nameless - Slipknot  
> Tired of Being Alive - Danzig  
> Nice Boys - Guns N' Roses  
> Don't Bother - Life of Agony  
> Dmslt - A Pale Horse Named Death

When Johnny finally came upstairs that night, he discovered Kenny already in bed, open-mouthed snoring with wet tendrils of dark hair clinging to his face. Maybe this was better. This way they wouldn't have to talk about it. And the bottle of NyQuil on the nightstand indicated that Kenny agreed: best to revisit their lost little moment in the morning. 

Johnny changed into his pajamas and cautiously crept into bed beside Kenny, careful not to disturb the mattress too much and risk waking him up. It was curious, how far the two of them had come. The five of them had been friends in high school, though they'd initially only run in circles that overlapped very slightly. Kenny and Sal had been the closest, and had closed themselves off in a group that consisted of the two of them and a handful of other misfits. Josh was friends with Kenny, and Peter was best friends with Josh, so Kenny saw the two of them every so often. And Johnny had been somewhere in the middle of that spiderweb. There weren't too many people who outright disliked him, so he got on with just about everyone. 

He was closest to Josh, for a reason neither of them could necessarily pinpoint. Josh didn't like many people at all, but Johnny had a strange way of endearing himself to everybody. And Josh was always very dour, but Johnny enjoyed how funny and intelligent he was. It was through Josh that Johnny had become acquainted with Kenny, and from the moment the two of them met, Johnny had never failed to make moon eyes at him. Kenny was just about the coolest person he had ever seen.

"Stop staring at him," Josh droned, not looking up from his book. "He's just another broody goth kid."

"He's your friend, you shouldn't say that."

"He's my friend, so I can definitely say that. Don't you have a biology report or something due?"

"Not until Monday. Bio isn't that hard anyway." Johnny rested his chin on his fist and peeked back at Kenny, whose hair curtained his face as he pored over a book. "I wonder what he's reading."

"Go ask him." 

"What?" Johnny demanded, looking at Josh as if he had just sprouted a second head. "I can't just _go ask him._ Are you out of your mind?"

"Why the fuck not? He's not doing anything."

"I wouldn't want to bug him." Johnny's left hand gravitated to fuss with a lock of his hair, while his right thumbed absently at the page of a neglected novel. He looked so deep in concentration. And Kenny was sort of antisocial anyway; if Johnny interrupted some activity he enjoyed, maybe he would never speak to him again! 

"You won't. This is like the one time you can get him away from Sal anyway. They don’t have study hall together. If you wanna take your shot, I would do it now."

Johnny threw another anxious glance in Kenny's direction. "I dunno."

"He's not gonna mind," Josh assured him. "He actually seems to like you, which is a rarity. Or at least he doesn't _dislike_ you. Go on."

Johnny nodded and gathered his books into his arms, tucking his hair behind his ear about five different times before he finally stood up and approached Kenny's table at the far corner of the library. 

Kenny liked it back there because it struck the fine balance of being near a window and being away from people. He liked the natural light and being able to watch the trees outside while he read. Initially, he didn't look up when Johnny sat down, but after he set down his books with a light thump, he finally glanced up through his hair. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey, Kenny." Johnny flashed him a kind smile, which faltered a little when Kenny didn't return it. "You...do you mind if I sit here?"

"Naw, s'all yours."

Johnny hazarded a glance at Josh, who nodded encouragingly. An invitation to sit was just about the highest form of affection Kenny was capable of these days. 

"Uh...what are you reading?" he asked softly, trying to peer over the table. "If you don't mind me asking, I mean--"

Kenny shut the book, using his index finger as a bookmark, and held it up for Johnny to see. "Bukowski." Johnny looked visibly surprised, and Kenny frowned. "What?" 

"Oh, no, I just...I didn't know you read poetry." Johnny flushed lightly, ears reddening with the realization that Kenny was _sensitive._ "That's cool. Is he your favorite?"

"I like T.S. Eliot too," he murmured. "Bukowski is more...I dunno. Visceral. Subject matter is darker." 

"Can you really read that stuff all the time?" 

Johnny looked as vaguely scandalized as a teenage boy could, and a smile twitched at the corner of Kenny's mouth, threatening his oh-so-serious facade. "Yeah. It's cathartic. Doesn't strike me as something you'd necessarily like, though."

"Oh, yeah? I don't know much about poetry. I never got into it much in English anyway. I'm sorry." 

Kenny cocked his head earnestly. He didn't see what part about that warranted an apology. "Don't be sorry. They don't know how to teach it anyway. The curriculum ruins it." 

"Yeah?" Johnny's eyes twinkled with amusement. "How do you figure?" 

Kenny sat back in his chair, and looked off toward the bookshelves as he formulated his response. With his fingers, he swept the hair off his face and over his shoulders, then turned back toward Johnny, who was suddenly stricken with the realization that this was probably the most animated he had ever seen him.

"So, you learn about sonnets and shit, right? Shakespeare. And then you learn about rhyme schemes and iambic pentameter and shit, A-B-B-A-B--whatever. And then you learn about poems that don't rhyme, like haikus and things like that. And you're starting out with this really fuckin' technical lens, right? Cause the first thing you have to do when you see a fuckin' poem is tear it to shreds and analyze it. And then they make you write your own poems as part of an assignment or something, and everyone gets fuckin' frustrated because they're trying to plan the rhyme scheme in advance and forcing these words and slant rhymes and shit, and trying to impress the English teacher by throwing in these hokey platitudes that are supposed to be these deep symbolic things, but they're really just unsubtle tropes and hackneyed concepts, but that's not what any of it's _about._ Poetry is supposed to make you _fuckin' feel something,_ and that's like the whole fuckin' reason it even exists. You're supposed to feel how the author felt when they wrote it, and it does the whole entire fuckin' medium such a goddamn disservice to dissect every word of a fuckin' piece--" 

The bell that signaled change of periods rang, and Kenny stopped himself in the middle of his sentence, suddenly very aware of how loudly he'd been talking. He stood up and started to gather his things, a nonverbal pardon: he'd probably yapped Johnny's fuckin' ear off, so if he wanted to leave, he certainly wouldn't stop him. 

But Johnny didn't seem to be in a terrible hurry, instead choosing to slowly collect his books and linger by the corner of the table. "I didn't really know that," he offered, tilting his head. "But...y'know, I'd like to hear more about it some time. You wanna do homework later, and...maybe you can bring some poetry you think I _would_ like?"

Kenny stared at him for a moment, stupid and surprised. "...seriously?" 

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You're fun to talk to. And you're really smart." 

Johnny gathered his books up and waved as he started away, eventually linking up with Josh in the hallway. 

"So? Did he say how much he hates you and shun you forever, or what?" 

"Ha ha. Funny. No, we're gonna do homework this afternoon."

Josh paused for a second. "...like a date?" 

"Well, I asked him and he said yes, so--"

Grabbing Johnny's elbow, Josh pulled them out of the flow of traffic to take refuge in the doorway of a currently-unused classroom. "I'm not...sure that's the best idea." 

"What? Why not?" 

"Johnny, I just...I don't know if Kenny's in the right state of mind for a relationship." 

The truth was that there was only one demographic of people that Josh could think of who would wear a leather jacket well into June, only so many teenagers who chain-smoked under the bleachers at the end of the day, and fewer still who brought in vodka water bottles and were drunk by 10 am. Rumors had flown around the school in the past that Kenny was schizophrenic--probably due to the combination of reclusive behavior and his eagerness to get into fights--but he wasn't. He was, however, severely depressed, and if he killed himself while they were going out, Johnny would be utterly inconsolable. Josh was doing all that he could to keep Kenny off the edge, but relationships were too complicated. They came with too much. Johnny would be such a good influence on him, but...not as a boyfriend. Not yet, at least. 

"What? Why?" 

"He's just dealing with a lot right now, okay? I think he needs a friend or two, and I think you could be good for him." Johnny looked down, disappointed, and Josh tapped him. "Hey. It's been a while since I've seen him that talkative."

"...really?"

”Yeah. I’m not saying you can _never_ date the guy, but...I dunno. I don’t know that it would go well. For either of you.”

Johnny nodded slowly. Josh knew Kenny better than just about anybody. And even though it was a shame that they wouldn’t be able to date properly, if Josh said that it wouldn’t be good for him, Johnny had no reason not to believe that. 

”...can I still hang out with him?”

”Yeah, of course. Go do homework with him and shit. I think that’s great. He just spends so much time in his own head, I think it’s...sometimes hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

Again, Johnny nodded. High school could be fucked up like that sometimes.

They met after school that day, and Kenny came armed with [_The Orange_](https://gladdestthing.com/poems/the-orange) by Wendy Cope and a handful of [William](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45502/the-red-wheelbarrow) [Carlos](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56159/this-is-just-to-say) [Williams](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=37&issue=5&page=31) poems. These works were upbeat and positive, even funny, about the little things in life and how important they can be. And Kenny had been correct: they were right up Johnny’s alley. 

Soon, it turned into a weekly thing. Kenny skipped his afternoon plans of smoking half a pack of cigarettes and flirting with the quarterback’s girlfriend because he knew it would get him an easy fistfight in favor of hanging out with Johnny. They started in the library, and as the summer progressed, they moved to the park, where they sat in the grass and ate lunch together, and Kenny never once removed his leather jacket. The sunshine seemed to beat on him, black hair and black jacket, and made his cheeks pink with warmth, though he insisted he didn’t mind. 

He had thought about it once or twice—taking the jacket off, that is—but the more of his time that was spent with Johnny, the less he found himself wanting to. He couldn’t stand to see him frown, and peeling off the thick armor would probably break his heart. But, as the summer dragged on, he found that there was less and less to cover. Kenny’s arms had once looked like a chopping block, textured with cut after cut after cut. Most of them had healed all right, though a few of the more aggressive and jagged ones had left scars. He found that he didn’t hate the sun so much, and it was easier for him to leave the shelter of his bed as well. 

By October, Johnny had finally seen Kenny’s forearms. His jacket had been draped over the back of a chair in the overly-warm library as he worked diligently on a math problem. Kenny had never been unintelligent, but his mental health had caused his grades to slide. Now, it seemed, they were recovering little by little. The year was young yet, but he was on track to get at least a B if he kept this up. 

”Come on,” Sal pushed, peering over Kenny’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

”I’m not done yet.”

”Do it later.”

”I’m not leaving until I finish my fuckin’ homework.” 

Sal sneered at him. “When did you become such a fuckin’ square?”

“I’d like to finish my senior year out with something to show for it.”

Sal paused for a moment, then rested his cheek dejectedly in his hand. “Fine. Whatever.” 

Kenny glanced over at him, then nudged him with his elbow. "I'm almost done. We're still gonna make the movie, don't worry."

Sal was mopey because Kenny had been spending most of his time with Johnny lately, and being left in the dust was getting on his nerves. Kenny had been acting different lately, too. He seemed...less _despairing._ He didn't drink as much, he'd cut down on how much he smoked, and his once-rare smiles were increasing in frequency. And that was all well and good, but Sal sort of missed the times when he could _depend_ on Kenny not having anybody else to run to. They used to be sort of a pair, just the two of them against a world that didn't deign to try and understand them. Terrible rumors spread joyfully about the two of them, that Kenny heard voices and Sal spent his weekends skinning cats, and why? Just because they'd found a few neighborhood pets mutilated and had immediately pointed their fingers at him?

"Hey!" 

Kenny looked up and smiled brightly, an immediate reaction upon seeing Johnny approaching. Sal just sulked harder. The two of them were disgusting. 

"Hey. It's a little late for you to still be here, yeah? Your mom is gonna worry." 

"I was helping my history teacher set up for Model UN. What are _you_ still doing here? Don't you have somewhere to be?" Johnny teased. 

"Yes," Sal snapped. 

"Sal and I are gonna hit a 4:25 movie when I finish my homework." 

"Oh, what are you seeing?" 

"Some horror movie. Looks pretty good, you wanna join?" 

"Nah, scary movies aren't really my thing. But you guys have fun! I'll see you tomorrow." 

Johnny squeezed Kenny's shoulder as he passed, and the two of them shared a lingering smile before Johnny disappeared around the corner. 

"When did you become such a faggot?" Sal demanded, voice sharp with accusation. 

Without looking up from his derivatives, Kenny responded "Why? Are you jealous?" and the vein in Sal's forehead bulged indignantly.

"No! But you must be sucking his dick or something, cause the two of you are practically attached at the hip."

"I'm allowed to have other friends, Sal. Maybe you should try it sometime." 

Sal's eyes narrowed. That comment hurt a little, probably more than Kenny had intended. "I know that, I'm just saying--"

Kenny finally looked over at him, bumping him affectionately with one shoulder. "Calm down, okay? Just because I'm friends with him doesn't mean I'm not friends with you. You're not getting replaced or anything, so chill out." He put his pencil down and bumped Sal a couple more times until he stopped pouting and cracked a smile. "C'mon. I'll buy the popcorn." 

"You're done?"

"Yeah, I just finished." 

Sal's friendship was, unfortunately, depression territory. It wasn't as if Kenny had suddenly been cured, but Johnny's influence had gone a long way. He liked Sal, but he was an enabler. He egged on Kenny's self-destructive behaviors, encouraged his morbidity, and drank alongside him during school hours. Johnny didn't fix everything overnight, but...he made him want to get out of bed in the morning. In fact, when he didn't get out of bed, Johnny even called after him, and Kenny's mother had been absolutely delighted that he had made friends with such a polite and courteous young man. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Hickey?"

"Yes, may I ask who's calling?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry--uhhh, my name is Johnny Kelly. I go to Kenny's school."

"Oh, hi! What can I do for you?" 

"Kenny wasn't in class today, and I wanted to make sure he's alright. I know he hasn't been feeling great lately." 

"Yeah, he's still in bed. He hasn't been doing so well." Aileen smiled for a moment, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear. "Hey, why don't you drop by after school?" She glanced out the window at the fresh snow mottling the grass. Winter time always exacerbated Kenny's episodes. The sun was good for him, and these shortened days with their four o'clock sunsets could be a curse. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. I'm making a big dinner, lots of comfort food, and I have hot cider and cocoa--"

"Oh, no--thank you so much, but I really wouldn't want to impose." 

"No, no--please, I insist. We don't live too far from the school, I'll give you the address." 

Johnny walked to Kenny's place after school, and Mrs. Hickey herded him inside, smiling brightly. Oh, he was the cutest thing--all pink cheeks and snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes, stammering with a shy sort of courtesy that would make any mother fawn over him.

”Make yourself at home, honey—no no, sit! Do you want anything to drink? A snack?”

”Oh, uh...no thank you, ma’am.” 

Oh, wasn’t he _sweet?_ Aileen didn’t mind Josh, but she could hardly get two words out of the kid. And Sal...well, Johnny just seemed like a big improvement. 

”Suit yourself. And don’t be afraid to speak up. I’ll go tell him you’re here.” 

Aileen ascended the stairs, then quietly ventured down the hall toward Kenny’s closed bedroom door. He’d been sleeping for nearly two days straight. When his episodes got bad like this, she just let him rest. Forcing him to go to school wouldn’t improve anything. She knew how the other mothers talked about her, too. They always either seemed to think that Kenny was dishonest and taking advantage of her kindness, or that she was stupid or naive or not strict enough with him. 

And, quite frankly, the other mothers could kiss her ass. 

”Kenny...” She knocked gently on the door, then poked her head in. He was unconscious under the covers, face-down in his pillow, chest rising and falling slowly. His room was dark, only the slits of white light struggling in from between the closed shutters. Slowly, Aileen stepped inside, then gently shook her son’s shoulder. 

His eyes opened after a short pause, and he squinted up at her. He looked exhausted. "Ma?" 

"Hey, baby." She crouched down beside him and gently rubbed his back. "How are you feeling?" 

"Uh...I feel a little better," Kenny murmured hoarsely, but they both knew he was lying. 

"I'm making your favorites, for whenever you feel hungry. And one of your little friends came by to check on you."

"Josh?" Josh was fine, he would understand that he couldn't make it. It had happened before. 

"Uh, no. Johnny, I think his name is. He's a sweet kid."

Kenny froze just as he was about to burrow under the blankets again. "...what?"

"Johnny called to check on you, and I thought maybe he would like to come over for dinner." 

His eyes widened. "Fuck. No--when is he getting here?"

"He's sitting on the couch downstairs." 

"Oh my god," he groaned. "Fuck, shit--uhh...alright." Kenny pressed his palms to his temples. "Give me like...uh...ten minutes."

Aileen left, and Kenny moaned into his pillow. This was a fucking disaster! Now he had to get up and try to appear halfway presentable when the only thing in the _world_ that he wanted to do was sleep for about another decade. Any kind of movement drained him, and he wasn't even particularly confident he would be able to get up at all, but he really, _really_ didn't want Johnny to worry. Being alive was a chore most days, but...

Oh, fuck it. 

With a tremendous summoning of effort, Kenny managed to drag himself out of bed. His head immediately began spinning, and he leaned on the wall for support. Well, no food and no water for two days straight would probably do that to a person. He kept his goal reasonable: to look as presentable as possible without overexerting himself. It might have seemed so small to anybody else, but pulling himself out of a depression like this would be goddamn near impossible, and functioning even at the lowest capacity when he felt like he had a fifty pound weight on each limb certainly wouldn't be easy. 

Kenny stripped his boxers off and leaned most of his weight back against his mattress to pull on a clean pair of sweatpants. He knelt down on the carpeted floor to retrieve a hoodie and slowly drag it over his head. Standing was bad, yeah, but sitting was worse. If he sat down on his ass he'd never actually get back up, and he'd probably spend the next two days on the ground. 

He had made good progress, but as he shuffled into the bathroom, Kenny paused. His original intention had been to shower, but now that he was in front of it, the very prospect seemed insurmountable. It was just too much. He'd have to undress, get clean, dry off, and then re-dress, probably even one of which would max out his already-limited energy. Lost, he glanced around, and then he saw his saving grace--a washcloth. Washing his face would be better than nothing, and "better than nothing" was exactly what he intended to do. 

By the time he finally came downstairs, Johnny and Aileen had already begun discussing his high school experience. Aileen had started him on a very motherly topic with no intention other than to stall him into answering all her questions politely, but once she saw Kenny emerge from the upper level, she smiled brightly. "Oh, there he is." 

Without even thinking twice, Johnny got up from the sofa and immediately wrapped Kenny up in a tight hug. "Hey, how are you doing? Do you feel okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." Kenny squeezed him back lightly, resting his head on Johnny's shoulder. "I hope I didn't worry you too much."

"No, I just wanted to make sure you're feeling alright. I know you've been kind of off for a while now."

Aileen smiled fondly at the two of them as they chatted in one another's arms. Kenny really would go to the ends of the earth for this boy, huh? This was the most lively he'd looked in over a week. He was wearing _clothes_ and not pajamas. He had combed his hair, or at least smoothed it out. It was actually sort of amazing. 

"C'mere, bubba." She grabbed Kenny's cheeks and kissed his forehead until he whined at her to let him go and Johnny dissolved into giggles. "You must be starving. Have you eaten anything?" 

"Uh..." As if answering for him, Kenny's stomach growled loudly. "...guess not."

"You haven't eaten?" Johnny looked horrified, and Kenny took a half step back. 

"I was gonna! I just...forgot, I guess." 

"Well, Jesus, no wonder you look dead on your feet. I know you're sick, but not eating can't possibly be helping. Come on, your mom made all this stuff you like."

Aileen watched as Johnny pulled Kenny into the kitchen, and before he could even protest, picked up a plate off the counter and started to scoop food onto it. Homemade macaroni and cheese, barbecue pulled pork, cheesy potatoes--it was all a little heavy, maybe, but it would be nice and filling and _warm._ And then, to make a point, Johnny made himself a plate as well. 

All went well for a while. Kenny actually ate about half the food Johnny had given him, and the two of them were curled underneath a blanket and watching Santa Claus is Comin' to Town on their little TV. And then Johnny made a stupid, off-hand little comment about one of the characters in the program, and then something absolutely remarkable happened--Kenny _smiled._

By Aileen's count (and, ask anybody, Aileen was _never_ wrong), it had been eight and a half days since she'd seen Kenny smile. He had been in a very dark place lately, and she unfortunately spent most of her time worrying that he would go into his room and just never come out. She did all that she possibly could, but she couldn't fight this battle for him. But she would always be standing by, in reserve, for whatever it was that he needed. 

But this! This was the first indication Aileen had had in a while that Kenny really would be okay after all. He had good, caring people in his life, including a sweet young man who seemed to make him very happy. That one little quirk of the lips, and the realization that she would not have to bury her only child after all, had Aileen excusing herself to dab away relieved and overjoyed tears in the bathroom.

Johnny hadn't understood how serious Kenny's depression was at the time, but until the day she died, Aileen had never once forgotten that moment. That one little smile had stayed in her head for the better part of fifteen years, and she had adored Johnny from then on. She had always asked about him, even during the worst of her illness, when Kenny took the role of caretaker. He had moved out of his own apartment and into her little place in Queens, and as he dressed her and helped her bathe and took her to doctor's appointments, she would softly ask, every so often, "have you heard from Johnny lately?" 

She would always reminisce about "The Brooklyn House", the one right near the school, the one where Johnny always came to see them. She had moved to Queens once she got older, but that old place would always have a place in her heart, right there with Johnny. 

"Ma, why do you always ask me what Johnny's up to?" Kenny had murmured, lying on his side next to his mother. Hospice had done a number on her, but her freckled cheeks still wrinkled with a mischievous grin. "I haven't seen the guy in ages."

"Because he makes you smile, honey," Aileen whispered, resting a hand on Kenny's cheek. "And as your mother, I have to look out for you."

It was unclear whether that moment had held the same significance for Kenny, but Aileen's affection had certainly not been lost on him. When Johnny had showed up for her funeral, Kenny had intercepted him with a tight hug and a "Thanks for comin'. My mom always loved you, y'know." 

And although this had been among the worst months of Kenny's life, when he briefly regained consciousness from his medicated stupor and saw Johnny's back rising and falling right beside him, he couldn't help but think that Aileen was smiling down at them, utterly over the moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have depression, but I did my best to make it accurate 😬


	13. To Kiss And Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to call the police, but Kenny and Johnny find themselves a little...distracted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 Playlist:  
> Drumming Song - Florence + the Machine  
> From Eden - Hozier  
> You've Got the Love - Florence + the Machine  
> Somebody to Love - Queen  
> Set Me on Fire - Type O Negative

Peter and Josh woke up at 5 am on Thursday morning to load the drum of acid into the bed of the pickup and dispose of it. The two of them had been stopped before because a cop or two had been suspicious, but they had always been able to explain it away. 55-gallon drums could be used for any number of things, even if they were filled with liquid. Metalworking or engine cooling seemed to be a viable excuse, but Josh suspected that it wouldn't take a whole lot of embellishment for a cop to let them go. White dudes had historically gotten away with murder specifically because the cops were so bad at their jobs, so inclined to believe whatever excuses they came up with, that they returned a naked, bloody fourteen year old boy with a hole in his head back to Jeffrey fucking Dahmer. Was it fair? No way, not even close. But that didn't mean they wouldn't use it to their advantage. 

But nobody stopped them that day; it was too early even for the traffic patrols to slither out and take their still-sleepy places at the side of the highway. The sun hadn't even fully emerged from behind the horizon line yet. What little light there was streamed through the roadside trees, but the rest of the sky was a rich, dark blue. The western-most pocket still glimmered with a handful of fading stars. 

"It's a nice morning to do this," said Peter. "Y'know. As nice as it can be." 

"Shut up. It's too fuckin' early for this shit."

They were headed to Canarsie Pier, specifically. It was usually relatively quiet at this hour, with the exception of a handful of deliveries going in and out of the docks. Pete's father had been one of those types of guys, and as long as you looked confident, nobody was gonna say shit or look at you twice. New York City was the "mind your fuckin' business", "professionally avoiding the eye contact of strangers," "snitches get stitches" capital of the world. If they lived anywhere else, this might not have worked. 

Josh had no desire to be so social, but Peter actually knew a couple of the dockers. A handful of them had worked with his father, and the ones around his age had all really liked the big Polish bastard. Every so often, he'd catch up with one or two of them for a beer at Saint Vitus. So, when Josh opened the back of the flatbed to start pulling the drum out, he was understandably put out when Pete jumped out of the truck to fist-bump some fuck in a jumpsuit. 

"Hey, Danny."

"Hey, Pete. Whatcha doin' all the way over here?"

"Dump off. Our buddy has some gross sludge he uses to cool engines--calls it his 'special sauce'. How do you even make motor oil _pink_ anyway?"

Danny lifted an eyebrow and peered over Pete's shoulder at Josh, and the 55-gallon drum he was struggling with. "Must have a fuckload of it."

"He works in a garage _and_ fixes cars as a hobby. The fuckin' guy is obsessed."

_"Pete, get your ass over here and help me."_

Charlie slid over to greet Peter with a shoulder bump, and followed Danny's line of sight over to the truck. "Oh, _hey_ Josh." 

Josh glanced over his shoulder, and just squinted at Charlie's grin. 

"You should go give him a hand." 

"Yeah, yeah."

Getting the drum into its little round dolly cart was much, much easier with Peter among the ranks. They opened it with the lid key, then dumped it over the edge of the dock and into the greenish water below. After they closed it back up and got it into the bed of the truck, the four of them chatted idly for a little while. Charlie ignored Peter and mostly directed their conversation to Josh, who didn't seem to be especially interested in anything that _anyone_ was saying. As he'd said a number of times, it was too goddamn early to even be conscious. 

Finally, to Josh's relief, the two pairs parted ways, and he and Pete climbed back into the truck. He could not _wait_ to go the fuck back to bed. They just had to ditch the drum, then they were home free. 

Back in Flatbush, Kenny and Johnny were just beginning to wake up. It was early for both of them, but sleeping had been difficult, even with the NyQuil. 

"You're up early," Johnny murmured, squinting through still-heavy eyelids at Kenny. "Y'alright?"

"Yeah. Don't worry." Kenny turned on his side and pushed some hair out of his eyes, smiling a little at how out of it Johnny still looked. "Are _you_ alright?"

"Mhm." He yawned, reaching up to rub his eyes and then scratch his head, accidentally tousling his hair. "Y'seem like...y'been up f'ra while. S'it cause t'day's cop day?"

"...yeah, it's cause today is cop day." In spite of himself, he scooted closer, tucking his forearm under his head. "C'mon, we should get up and go over everything one more time."

"Noooo," he groaned, wriggling under the covers. "Five more minutes."

"No, c'mon. I'll make you breakfast if you get up." 

"Nooo."

"What? Why not? Hey--" Kenny wriggled under the covers after him. "Why not?"

"You can't cook."

"Yes I fuckin' can, where'd you hear that?"

"Josh."

"Josh is full of shit. I'm a grown man and I cook all the time."

"Mmm."

"Mmm?"

"House-husband material."

"Shut up."

Johnny dissolved into a peal of utterly contagious giggles, and Kenny couldn't help but laugh too. He wasn't so self-contained before 6:00 am; he hadn't had the chance to corral his joy and straighten himself out yet. Johnny wasn't generally very stoic, no, but he was collected, although he found most things that Kenny said funnier than the general populous did. But this laughter was pure, concentrated and unrestrained.

Kenny caught his breath and just enjoyed watching Johnny giggle himself into a stomach ache, and then slowly settle down as he hiccup-gasped at his own stupid comment, and then he caught Kenny staring at him. His smile didn't falter, but he cocked his head like a fascinated cat. "What're you lookin' at?"

"...I dunno. I like when you laugh like that." He readjusted the edge of the blanket and tucked it under his head. A little sunlight was peeking in through the sheets, and it made everything seem weirdly romantic. Like the lighting in one of those bullshit paintings at the MET. "Look, about the other day..."

"What other day?" A lot happened these days; it was hard to keep up. Was he apologizing about Sal again?

"Uh...y'know. Yesterday. When I made an ass out of myself and fell off the kitchen chair?"

This time, it wasn't quite so funny. Johnny's grin wavered a little, and then dropped off his face all together. "...oh, yeah. That."

They paused for a beat, avoiding each other's eyes in the peach-pink light. 

"I'm sorry about that. That's all." 

"Are...you sorry about...what led up to you falling off the kitchen chair? Or...are you sorry about...falling off the kitchen chair?"

"What difference does that make?"

Johnny straightened up on his side, indignant at the stupidity of the question. "It makes a huge fuckin' difference."

"I'm just sorry about how the whole thing went down, okay?" 

"Kenny, you gotta tell me what the _whole thing_ is! Like, are you mad that we got interrupted, or are you mad that...are you sorry that you tried to kiss me, or what?" 

"What?" Kenny recoiled in surprise. "What? No--no, fuck, I'm mad that Pete forgot his _goddamn fuckin' shovel,_ he goes out to those roses every fuckin' day and you'd think he'd have a goddamn checklist or _something_ \--"

"Okay," Johnny said, trying desperately to keep him on topic, "so...if...if I kissed you right now, you would be...okay with that."

Stopping mid-rant, Kenny stared at Johnny. He swallowed audibly. "W...."

"Hypothetically!" he rushed to reassure him. "Hypothetically. _If._ "

"Uh...yeah. I mean. Yeah." Fuck, why was his mouth so dry? "Yeah, I'd...that would be cool." _Fuck._

Johnny's heart had suddenly taken up residence in his throat. He swallowed too, gently scooting forward and trying to prop up the sheets with his elbow like a little fort. "Uh...okay."

"What? You wanna kiss me?" The corner of Kenny's mouth twitched a little in an almost-smirk. Teasing him made it a little less serious, right? It distracted from that incessant thudding in his chest, the flush in his cheeks, noticing Johnny's eyelashes--of course, the goddamn _fucking_ eyelashes--

"Yeah, I do."

Oh, fuck. 

He cleared his throat and shifted closer until he and Johnny were nearly nose to nose. Another pause, another interlude to study one another closely. It wasn't as if they hadn't been looking each other in the face for the better part of fifteen years, but this time, they were _seeing_ each other. 

Suddenly, Johnny's lips were pressed against Kenny's, and the sheets had fallen on the two of them again. For a moment, Kenny's eyes stayed open, wide with shock, and then, eventually, they fluttered shut. It was...nice. Kenny could barely process it over the feeling of his heart trying to hammer straight out of his chest--that, and the never-ending loop of _holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit_ that ran in his head like a hamster wheel. Johnny's lips were so soft. Actually, Johnny was soft, period, confirmed when Kenny lifted a hand to rest it on Johnny's neck, silky hair and supple skin warming the pads of his fingers. Johnny placed a hand on his side, right over his ribs, and gently pulled at his t-shirt, which made Kenny grin through their kiss. 

"What?" Johnny murmured, after their lips had separated with a soft _pop._ "What's so funny?" 

"I dunno. You're cute." He didn't take his hand off Johnny's neck, but he did push the covers off as he traced the curve of his jaw with his thumb. They just watched each other, smiling stupidly, still pink from their kiss. 

"You still gonna make me breakfast?" 

"Pfft. Sure." 

Slowly, the two of them crawled out of bed and began to dress. It was warm, and already humidity battled with the window fan. They would have to put the air conditioner in soon. As he pulled a shirt over his head, Kenny spared a glance in Johnny's direction, watching as he pulled on black basketball shorts and a white tank top. Sunlight crept lazily through the slats in the blinds, and as he finished getting ready, Kenny finally said, "Indulge me for a second."

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "What's up?" 

"I think I can do better."

He laughed incredulously. "What does that mean?" 

"Well, you caught me off guard. I've been waiting to do this for twelve years, at least let me do it right."

Before Johnny could ask for elaboration about the _twelve years_ thing (because holy shit??), Kenny's hand was on the back of his neck and he was being pulled into another kiss. This one drew all the air clean out of his lungs, leaving him to breathlessly cling to one of Kenny’s shoulders. He really could do better; this wasn’t a stumbling first kiss anymore. This was prom night shit. This had been over a decade coming, and fuck, it certainly didn’t disappoint. 

Never one to be outdone, Johnny cocked his head and kissed back deeply, almost grinning when Kenny’s face stiffened in what could only be surprise. There was a hand on his waist now, they were chest-to-chest, completely consumed with one another, making up for their lost time by making out like teenagers in the backseat of a car. Johnny lightly pushed his fingers through Kenny's hair, and burst into another fit of giggles when he hit a tangle and nearly pulled Kenny's whole head back. "Fuck, sorry."

"Jesus, take it easy." Kenny grinned and rubbed his scalp. "At least take me out to dinner before we have to start figurin' out safe words and shit--"

"Oh my god." Johnny straightened, smiled. "We should go out to dinner! Is that okay? You wanna go _out,_ right? Not just kiss--"

"Yeah, yeah I definitely do, but babe, we gotta call the cops."

"Oh, fuck. You're right." He frowned a little, torn by indecision. "...we don't have to do it _now._ It's so early. We can wait a little." 

"...that's true." Kenny wanted to go over his lines, but he didn't point that out.

"...you wanna kiss until Pete and Josh come home?" 

Kenny agreed, because was that even a _question?_ and the two of them smiled their way into another kiss, wasting no time in getting close enough to fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. Butterflies filled both stomachs, and the two of them immediately began a heated back-and-forth, touching one another in desperately intimate little ways, now that the opportunity had presented itself. Kenny dragged his fingertips up the curve of Johnny's spine, making a mental note when he shivered. Johnny found his own hand wandering from Kenny's cheek down his neck and then to his collarbone, and caressing that little hollow it made beside his throat.

They kissed and kissed until they couldn't anymore, and at the point at which they had to come up for air, the two of them remained chest-to-chest, gently rubbing noses and almost-nuzzling each other as they caught their breath. 

Kenny peered up at him with one eye, lightly resting his chin on his shoulder. Being so close had the potential to be awkward, but they had been sharing a bed for weeks now. It was so...easy. "Did I improve, or what?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll be sure to leave a positive review." Johnny grinned. "Although, y'know, you can never really practice enough."

"Oh yeah, of course." Slowly, an annoying little smirk crept across his face. "You gonna tutor me?"

A beautiful laugh, bright and loud like a jinglebell, left Johnny's lungs as Kenny gave his waist a coy squeeze. "Shut the fuck up."

They were only able to stay like that for a moment or two, before the front door slapped open downstairs and Johnny heaved a long-laboring sigh at the interruption. Did _inevitable_ have to mean so _soon?_

"Ugh. Guess we gotta go down." 

They did, but it still took them a little while to fully detach from one another. Without communicating it verbally, both of them understood that this was something to be kept on the back burner until this whole deal with the cops was finished. Whatever action they wanted to take--if any--had to come first so as to avoid suspicion. 

Still, it was nice. 

"Everything taken care of?" 

"Yeah," Josh said, eyeing his housemates as they trooped down the stairs. "We brought back breakfast."

Peter dropped a large paper bag on the kitchen table, and they didn't even need to go rooting around in it to tell what treasures it contained. The smell was distinction enough: _bacon egg & cheeses. _

_"Fuck_ yeah." Kenny grinned and plunged a hand into the bag, pulling out a steaming sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil. "Now, do you eat these right? Or are you a lowlife?" 

"Bacon egg and cheese, salt pepper ketchup."

He nodded his approval, and Johnny made a face. "Are these from that place in Canarsie you keep talking about?"

"Yeah. Half are with ketchup, half are without. So anything with a K is ours."

The sandwiches were distributed, and silence commanded the kitchen as the four of them took their places at the table and ate. Johnny lobbed one or two half-interested questions about the disposal that he could already guess the answers to, and was answered by Peter, exclusively in grunts. Josh was too tired and Kenny was too hungry to participate in the conversation. 

But all good things come to an end, and as breakfasts were finished and tin foil balls were tossed into the garbage can by the counter, the conversation slowly resumed. 

"Do you need to practice what you're gonna say?" Josh asked Kenny seriously. "Because if you fuck this up, I'll end you."

"No, man. No, I'm good. Besides, what even are the odds that the cops ask us questions? Don't they like, not do shit about missing people anyway?" 

"Yeah, they probably won't do anything. But in the event they do wanna question us, it's good to have a plan."

"Alright, if that's that...want me to make the call?"

Johnny took the smattering of noncommittal shrugs as a "sure", and stood up to get the phone. Kenny rested his chin in his hand, suddenly feeling those nerves crop back up in the pit of his stomach. It made the ideally-lethargic aftermath of a sandwich like that less enjoyable. God damn it, he should have been reveling in his full stomach and lingering drowsiness, like a pig in mud, the way God intended that sandwich to be enjoyed. But, naturally, he had no such luck.

"Hi, my name's Johnny Kelly, I live on 66 Ocean Avenue. Uh...I know it hasn't been a full 48 hours, but I'm calling to report a missing person. Tuesday night. He's our housemate, Salvatore Abruscato--what?"

Josh looked up, but he couldn't see Johnny's expression--his back was turned. But that wasn't good, that much he could tell.

"You've already gotten a call about--oh. Oh. Yes. No, we know her. It's--listen, I'm sure it's been a misunderstanding--"

Pete and Kenny looked up now, watching Johnny uneasily as the 911 receptionist chattered into his ear. He was very still. 

"...uh, yes. Yeah, I understand. Okay. Goodbye."

Johnny hung up the phone and sat down, silently returning to the kitchen table. The others stared at him expectantly for a moment or two, until he finally spoke. "Sal's grandmother already called about him."

"What? How could she even know? It's been a day and a fuckin' half!"

"I don't know, but she was waiting on a call from him I guess. She called him at work and they said they haven't seen him, so she called the cops."

They were all quiet for a good minute, until Kenny finally asked "So...what does that mean?"

"It means that the cops are coming here to poke around, because she suspects foul play."

Peter squinted. "They're gonna investigate on some fuckin' geriatric's _hunch?"_

"I guess. I dunno. They said they'll be over some time today. I dunno when."

"...alright. Alright, that's fine." Josh glanced around at all of them. "Not ideal. But it's what we prepare for. Pete, sweep the basement again and make sure that fuckin' mattress is somewhere secure. Johnny, the cars, and Kenny, _memorize your story._ You're a good killer but you are _not_ gonna be a liability in this area."

Kenny lifted an eyebrow. "Okay. And what are you gonna do?"

"I'm overseeing. It's a vital job." He leaned back in his chair and waved a hand. "Get on it." 

The three of them slowly dispersed, Kenny squinting as he started away. This was definitely an unfortunate development, but if they were going to kill, they had to lie. And there was no better time to start flexing that muscle than a situation that, literally, was life or death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering about the timeline: 12 years of wanting to kiss would make Kenny 28, Johnny 27, and Pete & Josh both 32.  
> Canarsie is one of the westernmost areas of Brooklyn. It's 2 towns over and a 20-minute drive from Flatbush. The Canarsie Pier is a real place, though I've never been there. Ocean Ave is a real street in Flatbush, but I made up the address.  
> Charlie is nonbinary. ^_^


End file.
